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BASHFUL FIFTEEN 


7 


BY 

L. T. MEADE 

AUTHOR OF “OUT OF THE FASHION,” “A SWEET GIRL GRADUATE,” 
“THE MEDICINE LADY,” “POLLY, A NEW-FASHIONED 
GIRL,” “a world of GIRLS,” ETC. 




• ■ / L, 

• rN » 

\ 

I 

NEW YORK 


CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

104 & 106 Fourth Avenue 
V • -A ' 2 —. 


, s 


Copyright, 1892, by 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. 


All rights reserved. 


THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I. Curiosity, 

. 

PAGE 

. I 

II. 

The New Girl, 


lO 

III. 

Ribbons and Roses 

. 

. 24 

!V. 

The Queen of the School, 

• 

35 

V. 

Breaking in a Wild Colt, 

. 

. 52 

VI. 

Captivity, 


62 

VII. 

Who is to Provide the Needful ? . 

. 

• 73 

VIII. 

The “ Janet May Stall,” 

. 

82 

IX. 

Taking Sides 

. 

. 98 

X. 

Checkmate, 

. 

106 

XI. 

A Wild Irish Princess, 

. 

114 

XII. 

Lady Kathleen, .... 

• 

128 

XIII. 

Pearson’s Book of Essays, 

• 

147 

XIV. 

“ I’m Big, and I’m Desperate,” 

• 

158 

XV. 

Bridget O’Hara’s Stall, . 

• 

177 

XVI. 

Still in the Wood 

• 

193 

XVII. 

Persian Cats, 

iii 

• 

200 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XVIII. An Irish Welcome, 215 

XIX. “ Bruin, my Dog,” 221 

XX. The Squire and His Guests, . . . .232 

XXI. The Holy Well, 244 

XXII. Wild Hawk, 260 

XXHI. Under a Spell 275 

XXIV. Norah to the Rescue, 289 

XXV. Her Majesty the Witch, .... 294 

XXVI. A Terrible Night, 303 

XXVII. “Speak Out,” 310 

XXVIII. What the O’Haras Said to One Another, 318 

XXIX. The Child of His Heart, .... 323 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


CHAPTER I. 

CURIOSITY. 

The school stood on the side of a hill, which faced 
downward to the sea. Its aspect was south, and it 
was sheltered from the east and west winds by a thick 
plantation of young trees, which looked green and 
fresh in the spring, and were beginning already to 
afford a delightful shade in hot weather. 

A fashionable watering-place called Eastcliff was 
situated about a mile from Mulberry Court, the old- 
fashioned house, with the old-world gardens, where 
the schoolgirls lived. There were about fifty of them 
in all, and they had to confess that although Mulberry 
Court was undoubtedly school, yet those who lived in 
the house and played in the gardens, and had merry 
games and races on the seashore, enjoyed a specially 
good time which they would be glad to think of by 
and by. 

The period at which this story begins was the mid- 
dle of the summer term. There were no half-term 
holidays at the Court, but somehow the influence of 
holiday time had already got into the air. The young 
girls had tired themselves out with play, and the older 
ones lay about in hammocks, or strolled in twos or 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


threes up and down the wide gravel walk which sep- 
arated the house from the gardens. 

The ages of these fifty girls ranged from seventeen 
to five, but from seventeen down to five on this special 
hot summer’s evening one topic of conversation might 
have been heard on every tongue. 

What would the new girl be like? Was she rich or 
poor, handsome or ugly, tall or short, dark or fair? 
Why did she come in the middle of the term, and 
why did Mrs. Freeman, and Miss Delicia, and Miss 
Patience make such a fuss about her? 

Other new girls had arrived, and only the faintest 
rumors had got out about them beforehand. 

A couple of maids had been seen carrying a new 
trunk upstairs, or old Piper had been discovered crawl- 
ing down the avenue with his shaky cab, and shakier 
horse, and then the new girl had appeared at tea-time 
and been formally introduced, and if she were shy had 
got over it as best she could, and had soon discovered 
her place in class, and there was an end of the matter. 

But this new girl was not following out any of the 
old precedents. 

She was coming at mid-term, which in itself was 
rather exceptional. 

Mrs. Fr-eeman and Miss Patience had driven away in a 
very smart carriage with a pair of horses to meet her. 

Miss Delicia was fussing in and out of the house, and 
picking fresh strawberries, and nodding to the girls she 
happened to meet with a kind of suppressed delight. 

What could \t all mean? It really was most exciting. 

The smaller girls chatted volubly about the matter, 
and little Violet Temple, aged ten, and of course one 
of the small girls, so far forgot herself as to run up to 


BUT NATURAL. 


3 


Dorothy Collingwood, clasp her hand affectionately 
round the tall girl’s arm, and whisper in her impetu- 
ous, eager way : 

“I’m almost certain, Dolly, that she’s to sleep in a 
room by herself, for I saw the Blue Room being got 
ready. I peeped in as we were going down to dinner, 
and I noticed such jolly new furniture — pale blue, and 
all to match. Oh, what is it, Olive? How you’ve 
pinched my arm.’’ 

“Run back to your companions this minute, miss,” 
said Olive Moore. “You’re getting to be a perfect 
tittle-tattle, Violet. There, I’m not angry, child, but 
you must learn not to talk about everything you see.” 

.Violet frowned all over her fair, small face, but 
Olive Moore, a sixth-form girl, was too powerful an 
individual to be lightly disregarded. She shrugged 
her shoulders therefore, and walked sulkily away. 

“Why did you speak so sharply to her, Olive?” 
exclaimed Dorothy. “After all, her curiosity is but 
natural — I must even own that I share it myself.” 

“So do I, Dorothy, if it comes to that, but Violet 
must be made to know her place. She is one of those 
little encroachers without respect of persons, who can 
become absolute nuisances if they are encouraged. 
But there, we have said enough about her. Ruth and 
Janet are going to sit in ‘The Lookout’ for a little; 
they want to discuss the subject of the Fancy Fair. 
Shall we come and join them?” 

Dorothy turned with her companion ; they walked 
along the wide gravel sweep, then entered a narrow 
path which wound gradually up-hill. They soon 
reached a rural tower, which was called by the girls 
“The Lookout,” mounted some steep steps, and found 


4 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


themselves standing on a little platform, -where two 
other girls were waiting to receive them. 

Ruth Bury was short and dark, but Janet May, her 
companion, was extremely slim and fair. She would 
have been a pretty girl but for the somewhat disagree- 
able expression ^f her face. 

“Here you are,” exclaimed the two pairs of lips 
eagerly. 

“Sit down, Dorothy,” cried Ruth, “we have kept 
your favorite armchair vacant for you. Now, then, to 
discuss the Fancy Fair in all its bearings. Is it not 
kind of Mrs. Freeman to consent to our having it? She 
says it is quite an unusual thing for girls like us to do, 
but in the cause of that poor little baby, and because we 
wish the Fancy Fair to be our break-up treat, she con- 
sents. The only stipulation she makes is that we 
arrange the whole programme without troubling her.” 

“Yes,” continued Janet, “she met me half an hour 
ago, and told me to let you know, Dorothy, and you, 
Olive, and any other girls who happen to be specially 
interested, that we are to form our programme, and 
then ask her to give us an audience. She will look 
herself into all our plans, and tell us which can and 
cannot be carried into effect. The only other thing 
• she stipulates is that we do not neglect our studies, 
and that we leave room in the happy day’s proceed- 
ings for the distribution of the prizes.” 

While Janet was speaking, Dorothy, who had 
refused to seat herself in the armchair assigned to her, 
and. whose clear, bright blue eyes were roving eagerly 
all over the beautiful summer landscape, exclaimed in 
an eager voice : 

“After all, what does the Fancy Fair signify — I 


WELL, I NEVER! 


5 


mean — oh, don’t be shocked, girls — I mean, what does 
it signify compared to a real living present interest? 
While we are discussing what is to take place in six 
weeks’ time, Mrs. Freeman and Miss Patience are driv- 
ing up the avenue with somebody else. Girls, the new 
inmate of Mulberry Court has begun to put in an 
appearance on the scene.” 

“Oh, let me look; do let me look!” cried Ruth, 
while Olive and Janet both pressed eagerly forward. 

From where they stood they obtained a very distinct 
although somewhat bird’s-eye view of the winding 
avenue and quickly approaching carriage. Mrs. Free- 
man’s tall and familiar figure was too well known to be 
worthy, in that supreme moment, of even a passing 
comment. Miss Patience looked as angular and as like 
herself as ever; but a girl, who sat facing the two 
ladies — a girl who wore a large shady hat, and whose 
light dress and gay ribbons fluttered in the summer 
breeze — upon this girl the eyes of the four watchers 
in the “Lookout” tower were fixed with devouring 
curiosity. 

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Dorothy, after a pause. 
“I don’t suppose Mrs. Freeman will allow that style of 
wardrobe long. See, girls, do see, how her long blue 
ribbons stream in the breeze ; and her hat ! it is abso- 
lutely covered roses — Fm convinced they are roses. 
Oh, what would I not give for an opera glass to. enable 
me to take a nearer view. Whoever that young person 
is, she intends to take the shine out of us. Why, she 
is dressed as if she had just come from a garden party.” 

“I don’t believe she’s a new schoolgirl at all,” cried 
Ruth; “she’s just a visitor come to stay for a day 
or two with Mrs. Freeman. No schoolgirl that ever 


6 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


breathed would dare to present such a young lady, 
grown-up appearance. There, girls, don’t let’s waste 
any more time over her; let’s turn our attention to 
the much more important matter of the Fancy Fair.” 

Notwithstanding these various criticisms, the car- 
riage with its occupants calmly pursued its way, and 
was presently lost to view in the courtyard at the side 
of the house. 

“Now, do let us be sensible,” said Janet, turning to 
her companions. “We have seen all that there is to 
be seen. However hard we guess we cannot solve the 
mystery. Either a new companion is coming among 
us, who, I have no doubt, will be as commonplace as 
commonplace can be, or Mrs. Freeman is receiving a 
young lady visitor. Supper will decide the point, and 
as that is not half an hour away I suppose we can exist 
for the present without worrying our brains any 
further.” 

“Dear Janey, you always were the soul of sense,” 
remarked Dorothy, in a somewhat languid voice. “For 
my part I pity those poor little mites, Violet and the 
rest of them. I know they are just as curious with 
regard to the issue of events as we are, and yet I can 
see them at this moment, with my mental vision, 
being driven like sheep into the fold. They’ll be in 
bed, poor mites, when we are satisfying our curiosity.” 

“You have a perfect mania for those children, 
Dorothy,” exclaimed Olive. “I call it an imperti- 
nence on their parts to worry themselves about sixth- 
form girls. What’s the matter, Janet? Why that 
contraction of your angel brow?” 

“I want us to utilize our opportunities,” said Janet. 
“We have a few minutes all to ourselves to discuss the 


STEPS— SEVERAL STEPS, 


7 


Fancy Fair, and we fritter it away on that tiresome 
new girl.” 

“Well, lets settle to business now,” said Ruth; 
“Fm sure Fm more than willing. Who has got a 
pencil and paper?” 

Dorothy pulled an envelope out of her pocket. 
Olive searched into the recesses of hers to hunt up a 
lead pencil, and Janet continued to speak in her tran- 
quil, round tones. 

“The first thing to do is to appoint a committee,” 
she began. 

“O Janey,” exclaimed two of the other girls in a 
breath, “a committee does sound so absurdly formal.” 

“Never mind, it is the correct thing to do. In a 
matter of this kind we are nothing if we are not busi- 
nesslike. Now, who is coming to interrupt us?” 

Steps — several steps — were heard clattering up the 
stone stairs of the little tower, and two or three girls of 
the middle school, with roughly tossed heads and ex- 
cited faces, burst upon the seclusion of the four sixth- 
form girls. 

“O Dolly,” they exclaimed, running up to their favor- 
ite, “she has come — we have seen her ! She is very tall, 
and — and ” 

“Do let me speak, Marion,” exclaimed little Violet 
Temple, coloring all over her round face in her excite- 
ment and interest. “You know I got the first glimpse 
of her. I did, you know I did. I was hiding under 
the laurel arch, and I saw her quite close. It’s awfully 
unfair of anyone else to tell, isn’t it, Dolly?” 

“Of course it is, Violet,” replied Miss Collingwood 
in her good-natured way. “But what a naughty imp 
you were to hide under the laurel arch. The wonder 


8 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


is you did not get right in the way of the horses’ 
hoofs.” 

“Much I cared for that when I had a chance of see- 
ing her,” remarked Violet. ”I did get a splendid peep. 
She’s awfully tall, and she was splendidly dressed ; and 
O Dolly! O Ruthie! O Janey ! she’s just lovely ! ” 

“I wish you’d go away, child!” said Janet in a 
decidedly cross tone. “What are all you small girls 
doii]g out and about at this hour? Surely it’s time for 
you to be in bed. What can Miss Marshall be about 
not to have fetched you before now?” 

“Cross-patch !” murmured Violet, turning her back 
on Janet. “Come, Marion; come, Pauline, we won’t 
tell her any more. We’ll tell yoti, Dolly, of course, 
but we won’t tell Janet. Come, Marion, let’s go.” 

The children disappeared in as frantic haste to be 
off as they were a few minutes ago to arrive. 

“Now, let’s go on,” said Janet, in her calm tones. 
“Let us try and settle something before the supper 
bell rings. We must have a committee, that goes 
without saying. Suppose we four girls form it.” 

“What about Evelyn?” inquired Dorothy. 

When she said this a quick change flitted over Jan- 
et’s face. She bit her lips, and, after a very brief 
pause, said in a voice of would-be indifference : 

“I don’t suppose that Evelyn Percival fs to rule the 
school. She is away at present, and we can’t wait on 
her will and pleasure. Let’s form our committee, and 
do without her.” 

“It’s a distinct insult,” began Dolly. “I disapprove 
— I disapprove.” 

“And so do I” — “And I” — cried both Ruth and 
plive. 


0 


ONLY TI-iE HEAD GIRL. 

“Well/^ said Janet, “if you insist on spoiling every- 
thing, girls, you must. You know what Evelyn is.” 

“Only the head girl of the school,” remarked Dolly 
in a soft tone. “But of course a person of not the 
smallest consequence. Well, Janet, what next?” 

“As I was saying,” began Janet 

A loud booming sound filled the air. 

Ruth clapped her hands. 

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Supper!” she cried. “Your 
committee must keep, Janet. Now for the satisfac- 
tion of rampant, raging curiosity. Dolly, will you 
race me to the house?” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW GIRL. 


Although the booming sound of the great gong 
filled the air, the supper to which the head girls of the 
school were now going was a very simple affair. It 
consisted of milk placed in great jugs at intervals down 
the long table, of fruit both cooked and uncooked, and 
large plates of bread and butter. 

Such as it was, however, supper was a much-prized 
institution of Mulberry Court; only the fifth-form and 
sixth-form girls were allowed to partake of it. To sit 
up to supper, therefore, was a distinction intensely 
envied by the lower school. The plain fare sounded 
to them like honey and ambrosia. They were never 
tired of speculating as to what went on in the dining 
room on these occasions, and the idea of sitting up to 
supper was with some of the girls a more stimulating 
reason for being promoted to the fifth form than any 
other which could be offered. 

On this special night in the mid-term the girls who 
were ignominiously obliged to retire to their bedrooms 
felt a sorer sense of being left out than ever. 

As Dorothy and her companions walked through 
the wide, cool entrance hall, and turned down the 
stone passage which led to the supper room, they 
were quite conscious of the fact that some of the 
naughtiest and most adventurous imps of the lower 


SHE WAS POPULAR. 


II 


school were hovering round, hanging over banisters or 
hiding behind doors. A suppressed giggle of laughter 
proceeded so plainly from the back of one of the doors, 
that Dorothy could not resist stretching back her hand 
as she passed, and giving a playful tap on the panels 
with her knuckles. The suppressed laughter became 
dangerously audible when she did this, so in mercy she 
was forced to take no further notice. 

The girls entered the wide, long dining hall and 
immediately took their places at the table. 

Mrs. Freeman always presided at the head of the 
board. Miss Patience invariably sat at the foot. Miss 
Delicia wandered about restlessly, helping the girls to 
milk and fruit, patting her favorites on their backs, 
bending down to inquire tenderly how this girl’s head- 
ache was, and if another had come off conqueror in her 
tennis match. No girl in the school minded or feared 
Miss Delicia in the least. Unlike her two sisters, who 
were tall and thin, she was a little body with a round 
face, rosy cheeks, hair very much crimped, and eyes a 
good deal creased with constant laughter. No one 
had ever seen Miss Delicia the least bit cross or the 
least bit annoyed with anyone. She was invariably 
known to weep with the sorrowful, and laugh with the 
gay — she was a great coddler and physicker — thought 
petting far better than punishment, and play much 
more necessary for young girls than lessons. 

In consequence she was popular, with that mild sort 
of popularity which is bestowed upon the people who 
are all patience and have no faculty for inspiring fear. 

Mrs. Freeman could be austere as well as kind, and 
Mrs. Freeman was ten times more loved than Miss 
Delicia. 


12 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


The girls took their places at the table — grace was 
said, and the meal began. 

A sense of disappointment was over them all, for the 
new girl upon whom their present thoughts were cen- 
tered had not put in an appearance— nothing was said 
about her — Mrs. Freeman looked as tranquil as usual. 
Miss Patience as white and anxious, Miss Delicia as 
good-natured an^d downy. 

Dorothy was beginning to whisper to her companion 
that all their excitement was safe to end in smoke, 
when the door at the farther end of the dining hall was 
softly pushed open, and a head of luxuriant nut-brown 
curling hair was popped in. Two roguish dark blue 
eyes looked down the long room — they greeted with 
an eager sort of delighted welcome each fresh girl face, 
and then the entire person of a tall, showily dressed 
girl entered. 

“My dear Bridget!” exclaimed Mrs. Freeman, so 
surprised by the unexpected apparition that she was 
actually obliged to rise from her seat and come forward. 

“Oh, my dear, ought you not to be asleep?” ex- 
claimed Miss Patience in thin, anxious tones from the 
other end of the board, while Miss Delicia ran up to 
the girl and took one of her dimpled white hands 
in hers. 

“I did not feel tired, Mrs. Freeman,” replied the 
newcomer in an eager, irrepressible sort of voice. 
“You put me into my room and told me to go to bed, 
but I didn’t want to go to bed. I have had my supper, 
thank you, so I don’t want any more, but I have been 
dying with curiosity to see the girls. Are these they? 
Are these my schoolfellows? I never saw a school- 
fellow before. They all look pretty much like other 


t'M BRTDCET ^HARA. 


n 

people. How do you do, each and all of you? I’m 
Bridget O’Hara. May I sit near you, Mrs. Free^ 
man?” 

“Sit there, Miss O’Hara, please,” said Mrs. Freeman. 
She tried to suppress a smile, which was difficult. 
“Girls,” she said, addressing the fifth and sixth forms, 
“girls, this young lady is your new schoolfellow — her 
name is Bridget O’Hara. I meant to introduce her to 
you formally to-morrow, but she has taken the matter 
into her own hands. I am glad you are not tired. Miss 
O’Hara, for you have had a very long journey.” 

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Miss O’Hara, “that’s nothing. 
Goodness gracious me ! what would you think of thirty 
or forty miles on an Irish jaunting car, all in one day, 
Mrs. Freeman? That’s the sort of thing to make the 
back ache. Bump, bump, you go. You catch on to 
the sides of the car for bare life, and as likely as not 
you’re pitched out into a bog two or three times before 
you get home. Papa and I have often taken our thirty 
to forty miles’ jaunt a day. I can tell you, I have 
been stiff after those rides. Did you ever ride on a 
jaunting car, Mrs. Freeman?” 

“No, my dear,” replied the head mistress, in a 
rather icy voice, “I have never had the pleasure of 
visiting Ireland.” 

“Well, it’s a very fine sort of place, as free and easy 
as you please ; lots of fishing in the lakes and in the 
rivers. I’m very fond of my gun, too. Can you 
handle a gun, Mrs. Freeman? It kicks rather, if you 
can’t manage it.” 

An audible titter was heard down the table, and 
Mrs. Freeman turned somewhat red. 

“Will you have some fruit?” she said coldly, laying 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


a restraining hand as she spoke on the girl’s beflow- 
ered and embroidered dress. 

“No fruit, thank you. Oh, what a lovely ring you 
hav^e on ! It’s a ruby, isn’t it? My poor mother — she 
died when I was only three — had some splendid rubies 
— they are to be mine when I am grown up. Papa is 
keeping them for me in the County Bank. You always 
keep your valuables in the Bank in Ireland, you know 
— that’s on account of the Land Leaguers.” 

“I think, my dear, we won’t talk quite so much,” said 
Mrs. Freeman. “At most of our meals German is 
the only language spoken. Supper, of course, is 
an exception. Why, what is the matter. Miss 
O’Hara?” 

“Good gracious me!” exclaimed Bridget O’Hara, 
“am I to be dumb during breakfast, dinner, and tea? I 
don’t know a word of German. Why, I’ll die if I can’t 
chatter. It’s a way we have in Ireland. We must 
talk.” 

“Patience,” said Mrs. Freeman, from her end of the 
supper table, “I think we have all finished. Will you 
say grace?” 

There was a movement of chairs, and a general rising. 

Miss Patience asked for a blessing on the meal just 
partaken of in a clear, emphatic voice, and the group 
of girls began to file out of the room. 

“May I go with the others?” asked Miss O’Hara. 

“Yes, certainly. Let me introduce you to someone 
in particular. Janet May, come here, my dear.” 

Janet turned at the sound of her name, and came 
quickly up to her mistress. She looked slight, pale, 
and almost insignificant beside the full, blooming, lux- 
uriously made girl, who, resting one hand in a noncha- 


G/UBA T PUh\ TOO ! 


IS 

lant manner on the back of her chair, was looking full 
at her with laughing bright eyes. 

“Janet,” said Mrs. Freeman, “will you oblige me by 
showing Miss O’Hara the schoolrooms and common 
rooms, and introducing her to one or two of her com- 
panions? Go, my dear,” she continued, “but remem- 
ber, Bridget, whether you are tired or not, I shall 
expect you to go to bed to-night at nine o’clock. It 
is half-past eight now, so you have half an hour to get 
acquainted with your schoolfellows.” 

“My! what a minute!” said Miss Bridget, tossing 
back her abundant hair, and slipping one firm, dimpled 
hand inside Janet’s arm. “Well, come on, darling,” 
she continued, giving that young lady an affectionate 
squeeze. “Let’s make the most of our precious time. 
I’m dying to know you all — I think you look so sweet. 
Who’s that love of a girl in gray, who sat next you at 
supper? She had golden hair, and blue eyes — not like 
mine, of course, but well enough for English eyes. 
What’s her name, dear?” 

“I think you must mean Dorothy Collingwood,” said 
Janet in her clear, cold English voice. “May I ask if 
you have ever been at school before. Miss O’Hara?” 

“Oh, good gracious me! don’t call me Miss O’Hara. 
I’m Biddy to my friends — Biddy O’Hara, at your ser- 
vice — great fun, too, I can tell you. You ask my father 
what he thinks of me. Poor old gentleman, I expect 
he’s crying like anything this minute without his Biddy 
to coddle him. He said I wanted polishing, and so he 
sent me here. I have never been in England before, 
and I don’t at all know if I will like it. By the way, 
what’s your name? I didn’t quite catch it.” 

“Janet May. This is the schoolroom where the 


Bashful fifteekk 


i6 

sixth form girls do their lessons. We have a desk 
each, of course. That room inside there is for the fifth 
form. I wonder which you will belong to? How old 
are you?” 

“Now, how old would you think? Just you give a 
guess. Let me stand in front of you, so that you can 
take a squint at me. Now, then — oh, 1 say, stop a 
minute, I see some more girls coming in. Come along, 
girls, and help Miss May to guess my age. Now, then, 
now then, I wonder who’ll be right? How you do all 
stare! I feel uncommonly as if I’d like to dance the 
Irish jigl” 

Dorothy, Ruth, and Olive had now come into the 
schoolroom, and had taken their places by Janet’s side. 
She gave them a quick look, in which considerable 
aversion to the newcomer was plainly visible, then 
turned her head and gazed languidly out of the window. 

Bridget O’Hara bestowed upon the four girls who 
stood before her a lightning glance of quizzical inquiry. 
She was a tall, fully developed girl, and no one could 
doubt her claim to beauty who looked at her even for 
a moment. 

Her eyes were of that peculiar, very dark, very deep 
blue, which seems to be an Irish girl’s special gift. 
Her eyelashes were thick and black, her complexion a 
fresh white and pink, her chestnut hair grew in thick, 
curly abundance all over her well-shaped head. Her 
beautifully cut lips wore a petulant but charming ex- 
pression. There was a provocative, almost teasing, 
self-confidence about her, which to certain minds only 
added to her queer fascination. 

“Now, how old am I?” she asked, stamping her 
arched foot. “ Don’t be shy, any of you. Begin at the 


VLL BE FIFTEEN ! 


17 


eldest, and guess right away. Now then, Miss Col- 
lingwood — you see, I know your name — the age of 
your humble servant, if you please.” 

Dorothy could not restrain her laughter. 

‘'How can I possibly tell you. Miss O’Hara?” she 
replied. “You are a tall girl. Perhaps you are seven- 
teen, although you look more.” 

“Oh ! hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! What will my dear 
dad say when I tell him that? Biddy O’Hara seven- 
teen! Don’t I wish I were! Oh, the lovely balls I’d 
be going to if those were my years! Now, another 
guess. It’s your turn now — you, little brown one 
there — I haven’t caught your name, darling. Is it 
Anne or Mary? Most girls are called either Anne or 
Mary.” 

‘‘My name is Ruth,” replied the girl so addressed, 
‘‘and I can’t guess ages. Come, Olive, let us find our 
French lessons and go.” 

‘‘Oh, I declare, the little dear is huffed about some* 
thing! Well, then, I’ll tell. /’// be fifteen in exactly a 
month from now! What do you say to that? I’m well 
grown, am I not, Janet?” 

“Did you speak?” asked Miss May in her coldest 
tones. 

“Yes, darling, I did. Shall we go into the common 
room now? I’m dying to see it.” 

‘‘I’m afraid I have no more time to show you any 
of the house this evening,” answered Janet, “The 
common room is very much the shape of this one, only 
without the desks. I have some of my studies to look 
over, so I must wish you good-evening.” 

Bridget O’Hara’s clear blue eyes were opened a little, 
wider apart. 


i8 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


For the first time there was a faint hesitation in her 
manner. 

“But Mrs. Freeman said “ she began. 

“That I was to take you round and introduce you to 
a few companions,” continued Janet hastily. “Miss 
Collingwood, Miss O’Hara — Miss Moore, Miss O’Hara 
— Miss Bury, Miss O’Hara. Now I have done my 
duty. If you like to see the common room for your- 
self, you can go straight through this folding door, 
turn to your left, see a large room directly facing you ; 
go into it, and you will find yourself in the common 
room. Now, good-night.” 

Janet turned away, and a moment later reached the 
door of the schoolroom, where she was joined by Olive 
and Ruth. “Come,” she said to them, and the three 
girls disappeared, only too glad to vent their feelings 
in the passage outside the schoolroom. Dorothy Col- 
lingwood lingered behind her companions. “Never 
mind,” she said to Biddy, “it is rude of Janet to leave 
you, but she is sometimes a little erratic in her move- 
ments. It is a way our Janey has, and of course no 
one is silly enough to mind her.” 

“You don’t suppose I mind her?” exclaimed Bridget. 
“Rudeness always shows ill-breeding, but it is still more 
ill-bred to notice it — at least, that’s what papa says. 
She spoke rather as if she did not like me, which is 
quite incomprehensible, for everybody loves me at 
home.” 

There was a plaintive note in the girl’s voice, a wist- 
ful expression in her eyes, which went straight to 
Dorothy’s kind heart. 

“People will like you here too,” she said. “I am 
certain you are very good-natured ; come and let me 


VOU DARLING. 


19 


show you some of our snug little arrangements in the 
common room, and then I think it will be time for 
bed.” 

“Oh, never mind about bed— I’m not the least 
sleepy.” 

“But Mrs. Freeman wants you to go to bed early 
to-night.” 

“Poor old dear ! But wanting Biddy O’Hara to do 
a thing, and making her do it, are two very different 
matters. I’ll go to bed when I’m tired — papa never 
expected me to go earlier at home. I declare I feel 
quite cheerful again now that I have got to know you, 
Dorothy. Janet is not at all to my taste, but you are. 
What a pretty name you have, and you have an awfully 
sweet expression — such a dear, loving kind of look in 
your eyes. Would you mind very much if I gave you 
a hug?” 

“I don’t mind your kissing me, Bridget, only does 
not it seem a little soon — I have not known you many 
minutes yet?” 

“Oh, you darling, what do minutes signify when one 
loves? There, Dolly, I have fallen in love with you, 
and that’s the fact. You shall come and stay with me 
at the Castle in the summer, and I’ll teach you to fire a 
gun and to land a salmon. Oh, my dear, what larks 
we’ll have together! I’m so glad you’re taking me 
round this house, instead of that stiff Janet.” 

Dorothy suppressed a faint sigh, took her compan- 
ion’s plump hand, and continued the tour of inves- 
tigation. 

The common room to which she conducted Miss 
O’Hara was entirely for the use of the elder girls; the 
girls of the middle and the lower school had other 


20 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


rooms to amuse themselves in. But this large, luxuri- 
ously furnished apartment was entirely given upjo the 
sixth and fifth-form schoolgirls. 

The room was something like a drawing room, with 
many easy-chairs and tables. Plenty of light streamed 
in from the lofty windows, and fell upon knickknacks 
and brackets, on flowers in pots — in short, on the many 
little possessions which each individual girl had brought 
to decorate her favorite room. 

“We are each of us allowed a certain freedom here,” 
said Dorothy. “You see these panels? It is a great 
promotion to possess a panel. All the girls who are 
allowed to have the use of this room cannot have one, 
but the best of us can. Now behold! Open sesame! 
Shut your eyes for a minute — you can open them again 
when I tell you. Now — you may look now.” 

Bridget opened her eyes wide, and started at the 
transformation scene which had taken place during the 
brief moment she had remained in darkness. The room 
was painted a pale, cool green. The walls were divided 
into several panels. One of these had now absolutely 
disappeared, and in its place was a deep recess, which 
went far enough back into the wall to contain shelves, 
and had even space sufficient for a chair or two, a 
sewing machine, and one or two other sacred posses- 
sions. 

“This is my panel,” said Dorothy, “and these are my 
own special pet things. I bring out my favorite chair 
when I want to use it, or to offer it to a guest ; I put it 
back when I have done with it. See these shelves, 
they hold my afternoon tea set, my books, my paint 
box, my workbasket, my photographic album — iii. 
^hort, all my ^eare?t treasures,.” 


DON^T YOU HEAR THE CLOCH? 


rt 


“I must have a cupboard like that,” said Biddy. 
'‘Why, it’s perfectly delicious!” 

“Yes; you have got to earn it first, however,” replied 
Miss Collingwood, slipping back the pale green panel 
with a dexterous movement. 

“Earn it — how? Do you mean pay extra for it? 
Oh, that can be easily managed — I’ll write to papa at 
once. He has heaps of money, even though he is Irish, 
and he can deny me nothing. He’s paying lots more 
for me than most of the girls’ fathers pay for them. 
That’s why I have a room to myself, and why I am to 
have riding lessons, and a whole heap of things. But 
I mean to share all my little comforts with you, you 
darling. Oh, if the cupboard is to be bought. I’ll soon 
have one. Now let us sit in this cosy, deep seat in the 
window, and put our arms round one another and talk.” 

The great clock in the stable struck nine. 

“Don’t you hear the clock?” exclaimed Dorothy, 
unconscious relief coming into her tones. 

“Yes, what a loud, metallic sound ! We have such a 
dear old eight-day clock at the Castle ; it’s said to be 
quite a hundred years old, and I’m certain it’s haunted. 
My dear Dolly, to hear that clock boom forth the hour 
at midnight would make the stoutest heart quail.” 

“Well, and our humble school clock ought to make 
your heart quail if you don’t obey it, Bridget. Seri- 
ously speaking, it is my duty to counsel you, as a new 
girl, to go to bed at once.” 

“The precious love, how nicely she talks, and how I 
love her gentle, refined words. But, darling. I’m not 
going to bed, for I’m not tired.” 

“But Mrs. Freeman said ” 

“Dolly, I will clap my hands over your rosebud lips 


22 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


if you utter another word. Come, and let us sit in this 
deep window-seat and be happy. Would you like to 
know what papa is doing at the Castle now?” 

“I don’t think I ought to listen to you, Bridget.” 

“Yes, you ought. I’m going to give you a lovely 
description. Papa has had his dinner, and he’s pacing 
up and down on the walk which hangs over the lake. 
He is smoking a meerschaum pipe, and the dogs are 
with him.” 

“The dogs?” asked Dorothy, interested in spite of 
herself. 

“Yes, poor old Dandy, who is so lame and so 
affectionate, and Mustard and Pepper, the dear little 
snappers, and Lemon. Poor darling, he is a trial ; we 
have called him Lemon because he exactly resembles 
the juice of that fruit when it’s most acrid and dis- 
agreeable. Lemon’s temper is the acknowledged trial 
of our kennel, but he loves my father, and always paces 
up and down with him in the evening on the south 
walk. Then of course there’s Bruin, he’s an Irish deer- 
hound, and the darling of my heart, and there’s Pilate, 
the blind watchdog — oh ! and Minerva. I think that’s 
about all. We have fox hounds, of course, but they 
are not let out every day. I see my dear father now 
looking down at the lake, and talking to the dogs, and 
thinking of me. O Dolly, Dolly, I’m lonely, awfully 
lonely! Do pity me — do love me! O Dolly, my 
heart will break if no one loves me!” 

Bridget’s excitable eager words were broken by sobs ; 
tears poured out of her lovely eyes, her hands clasped 
Dorothy’s with fervor. 

“Love me,” she pleaded; “do love me, for I love 
you.” 


/ WILL LOVE YOU. 23 

It would have been impossible for a much colder 
heart than Dorothy Collingwood’s to resist her. 

“Yes, I will love you,“ she replied; “but please go 
to bed now, dear. You really will get into trouble if 
you don’t, and it seems such a pity that you should 
begin your school life in disgrace.’’ 

“Well, if I must go, and if you really wish it. Come 
with me to my room, Dorothy. O Dolly, if you would 
sleep with me to-night !’’ 

“No, I can’t do that; we have to obey rules at 
school, and one of our strictest rules is that no girl is 
to leave her own bedroom without special permission.’’ 

“Then go and ask, darling. Find Mrs. Freeman, 
and ask her; it’s so easily done.’’ 

“I cannot go, Bridget. Mrs. Freeman would not 
give me leave, and she would be only annoyed at my 
making such a foolish proposition.” 

“Oh, foolish do you call it?” A passing cloud swept 
over Bridget O’Hara’s face. It quickly vanished, 
however; she jumped up with a little sigh. 

“I don’t think I shall like school,” she said, “but I’ll 
do anything you wish me to do, dearest Dorothy.” 


CHAPTER III. 

RIBBONS AND ROSES. 

Dorothy shared the same bedroom as Ruth and 
Olive. Each girl, however, had a compartment to her- 
self, railed in by white dimity curtains, which she could 
draw or not as she pleased. Dorothy’s compartment 
was the best in the room ; it contained a large window 
looking out over the flower garden, and commanding a 
good view of the sea. She was very particular about 
her pretty cubicle, and kept it fresh with flowersj 
which stood in brackets against the walls. 

Ruth and Olive slept in the back part of the room. 
They had a cubicle each, of course, but they had not 
Dorothy’s taste, and their little bedrooms had a dowdy 
effect beside hers. 

They were both undressing when she entered the 
room this evening, but the moment she appeared they 
rushed to her and began an eager torrent of words. 

“Well, Dolly, have you got rid of that horrible incu- 
bus of a girl at last? What a trial she will be in the 
school ! she’s the most ill-bred creature I ever met in 
my life. What can Mrs. Freeman mean by taking her 
in? Of course, she cannot even pretend to be a lady.” 

“And there’s such a fuss made about her, too,’’ inter- 
rupted Olive. “A carriage and pair sent to meet her, 
forsooth, and a separate room for the darling to sleep 
in. It was good-natured of you to stay with her, Dolly ; 


24 


SHE^S NOT SO BAD. 25 

I assure you Ruth, and Janet, and I could not have 
borne another moment of her society.” 

“She’s not so bad at all,” began Dorothy. 

“Oh, oh, oh! if you’re going to take her part, that 
is the last straw.” 

“I shan’t allow her to be persecuted,” said Dorothy, 
with some firmness. “She’s the most innocent crea- 
ture I ever met in my life. Fancy a girl of her age, who 
has simply never *had a rebuff, who has been petted, 
loved, made much of all her days, who looks at you with 
the absolute fearlessness of a baby, and talks out her 
mind as contentedly and frankly as a bird sings its 
song. I grant she’s an anomaly, but I’m not going to 
be the one to teach her how cruel the world can be.” 

“Oh, if you take it up in that way,” said Olive; but 
her words had a faint sound about them — she was a 
girl who was easily impressed either for good or evil. 

If Dorothy chose to take the new girl’s part, she sup- 
posed there was something in her, and would continue 
to suppose so until she had a conversation with Janet, 
or anyone else, who happened to have diametrically 
opposite opinions to Dorothy Collingwood. 

Dorothy went into her own little cubicle, drew her 
white dimity walls tight, and, standing before the win- 
dow, looked out at the summer landscape. 

She had to own to herself that Bridget had proved a 
very irritating companion. She would take her part, of 
course ; but she felt quite certain at the same time that 
she was going to be a trial to her. As she stood by her 
window now, however, a little picture of the scene 
which the Irish girl had described so vividly presented 
itself with great distinctness before Dorothy’s eyes. 

She saw the wild landscape, the steep gravel path 


26 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


which overhung the lake, the old squire with his white 
hair, and tall but slightly bent hgure, pacing up and 
down, smoking his pipe and surrounded by his dogs. 
Dorothy fancied how, on most summer evenings, 
Bridget, impetuous, eager, and beautiful, walked by his 
side. She wondered how he had brought himself to 
part with her. She gave a little sigh as she shut the 
picture away from her mind, and as she laid her head 
on her pillow, she resolved to be very kind to the new 
girl. 

Breakfast was at eight o’clock at Mulberry Court. 
The girls always assembled a quarter of an hour before 
breakfast in the little chapel for prayers. They were 
all especially punctual this morning, for they wanted to 
get a good peep at Miss O’Hara. 

She was not present, however, and did not, indeed, 
put in an appearance in the breakfast room until the 
meal was half over. 

She entered the room, then, in a long white embroid- 
ered dress, looped up here, there, and everywhere with 
sky-blue ribbons. It was a charming toilet, and most 
becoming to its wearer, but absolutely unsuitable for 
schoolroom work. 

“How do you do, Mrs. Freeman?” said Bridget. 
‘T’m afraid I’m a little late; I overslept myself, and 
then I could not find the right belt for this dress — it 
ought to be pale blue to match the ribbons, ought it 
not? But as I could not lay my hand on it, I have put 
on this silver girdle instead. Look at it, is it not pretty? 
It is real solid silver, I assure you ; Uncle Jack brought 
it me from Syria, and the workmanship is supposed to 
be very curious. It’s a trifle heavy, of course, but it 
keeps my dress nice and tight, don’t you think so?” 


BESIDE JANET MAY. 


27 


''Yes, Bridget, very nice — go and take your place, 
my dear. There, beside Janet May. Another morn- 
ing I hope you will be in time for prayers. Of course, 
we make all allowances the first day. Take your place 
directly, breakfast is half over.” 

Bridget raised her brows the tenth of an inch. The 
faintest shadow of surprise crossed her sweet, happy 
face. Then she walked down the long room, nodding 
and smiling to the girls. 

“How do you do, all of you ?” she said. “Well, Janet, 
good-morning” ; she tapped Janet’s indignant back with 
her firm, cool hand, and dropped into her place. 

“Now, what shall I eat?” she said. “By the way, I 
hope there’s a nice breakfast. I’m awfully hungry. Oh, 
eggs! I like eggs when they’re very fresh. Mrs. 
Freeman, are these new laid? do you keep your own 
fowls? Father and I wouldn’t touch eggs at the Castle 
unless we were quite sure that they were laid by Sally, 
Sukey, or dear old Heneypeney.” 

A titter ran down the table at these remarks; Mrs. 
Freeman bent to pick up her pocket handkerchief, and 
Miss Delicia, rushing to Bridget’s side, began to 
whisper vigorously in her ear. 

“It is not the custom at school, my dear child, to 
make remarks about what we eat. We just take what 
is put before us. Here’s a nice piece of bacon, dear, 
and some toast. Don’t say anything more, I beg, or 
you will annoy Mrs. Freeman.” 

“Shall I really — how unfortunate; but she doesn’t 
look a bad-tempered woman, and what is there in wish- 
ing for fresh eggs? Stale eggs aren’t wholesome.” 

“Do try not to make such a fool of yourself,” re- 
peated Janet, angrily, in her ear. 


28 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Bridget turned and looked at her companion in slow 
wonder. Janet’s remark had the effect of absolutely 
silencing her; she ate her bacon, munched her toast, 
and drank off a cup of hot coffee in an amazingly short 
time, then she jumped up, and shook the crumbs of 
her meal on to the floor. 

“I’ve had enough,” she said, nodding to Mrs. Free- 
man in her bright way. “I’m going out into the gar- 
den now, to pick some roses.” 

Bridget’s movements were so fleet that the head 
mistress had no time to intercept her; there was a 
flash of a white dress disappearing through the open 
window, and that was all. 

The eyes of every girl in the room were fixed eagerly 
on their mistress ; they were all round with wonder, lips 
were slightly parted. The girls felt that a volcano had 
got into their midst, an explosion was imminent. This 
feeling of electricity in the air was very exciting; it 
stirred the somewhat languid pulses of the schoolgirls. 
Surely such an impulsive, such a daring, such an imper- 
tinent, and yet such a bewitching girl had never been 
heard of before. How sweet she looked in her white 
dress, how radiant was her smile. Those pearly white 
teeth of hers, those gleaming, glancing eyes, that soft 
voice that could utter such saucy words; oh! no won- 
der the school felt interested, and raised out of itself. 

“My dears,” said Mrs. Freeman, answering the looks 
on all faces, “your young companion’s extraordinary 
conduct can only be explained by the fact that she has 
never been at school before. I am going out to the 
garden to speak to her. You girls will now go as usual 
to your separate schoolrooms and commence study.” 

“Come, my dears,” said Miss Patience to the girls 


DO FORGIVE ME. 


29 


near her, “let us lose no more valuable time. Please 
don’t scrape your chair in that atrocious way, Alice. 
Rose, what a poke ! Susie, hold back your shoulders. 
Now, young ladies, come to the schoolroom quietly; 
quietly, if you please.’’ 

Miss Patience had a thin voice, and her words fell 
like tiny drops of ice on the girl’s excited hearts. They 
followed their teachers with a certain sense of flatness, 
and with very little desire to attend to French verbs 
and German exercises. 

Dorothy Collingwood ran after Mrs. Freeman. 

“Please remember ’’ she began. 

“What is it, my dear?’’ The head mistress drew her- 
self slightly up, and looked in some surprise at her 
pupil. 

‘T ought not to speak,’’ said Dorothy, turning very 
red, “but if you are going to be hard on Bridget ’’ 

“Am I ever hard to my pupils, my love?’’ 

“No, no— do forgive me!’’ 

“I think I understand you, Dorothy,’’ said Mrs. 
Freeman. “Kiss me!’’ 

Miss Collingwood was turning away, when her 
mistress stretched out her hand and drew her 
back; 

“I shall look to you to help me with this wild Irish 
girl,’’ she said with a smile. “Now, go to your lessons, 
my dear.’’ 

Dorothy ran away at once, and Mrs. Freeman walked 
down the garden in the direction where she had just 
seen a white dress disappearing. 

She called Bridget’s name, but the wind, which was 
rather high this morning, carried her voice away from 
the young girl, who was gayly flitting from one rose- 


30 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


bush to another, ruthlessly pulling the large, full-blown 
flowers with buds attached. 

“I don’t think I ever felt my temper more irritated,” 
murmured the good lady under her breath. “Why did 
I undertake an Irish girl, and one who had never been 
from home before? Well, the deed is done now, and 
I must not shoiv impatience, however I may feel it. 
Bridget, my dear ! Bridget O’Hara ! Do you hear me?” 

“Yes, what is it?” 

Biddy turned, arrested in her gay flight from rose- 
bush to rosebush. 

As she cut the blossoms off, she flung them into her 
white skirt, which she had raised in front for the pur- 
pose. Now, as she ran to meet Mrs. Freeman, the 
skirt tumbled down, and the roses — red, white, and 
crimson — fell on the ground at her feet. 

“Bridget, do look,” said Mrs. Freeman; “you have 
trodden on that lovely bud !” 

“Oh, I am sorry!” 

Miss O’Hara stooped carelessly to pick it up. 
“Poor little bud !” she said, laying it on her hand. 
“But there are such a lot of you — such a lot! Still, it 
seems a pity to crush your sweetness out.” 

“It is more than a pity, Bridget,” said her governess 
in a severe tone. “I am sorry to have to open your 
eyes, my dear child ; but in picking any of my roses 
you have taken an unwarrantable liberty.” 

“What?” said Bridget, coloring high. “Do you 
mean seriously to tell me that I — I am not to pick 
flowers? I think I must have heard you wrong! 
Please say it again !” 

“You are not to pick flowers, Miss O’Hara; it is 
against the rules of the school.” 


I'M LIKE A BUTTERFLY. 


31 


“Oh, how very funny — how — how unpleasant. Did 
you tell papa about that when he arranged to send me 
here?” 

“I did not specially mention the flowers, my dear. 
There are many rules in full force at Mulberry Court, 
and the pupils are expected to obey them all.” 

“How disagreeable! I can’t live without flowers. I 
suppose papa will not expect me to stay if I don’t like 
the place?” 

“He will expect you to stay until the end of the 
term.” 

“Good gracious, why, that’s weeks off! I can’t live 
without flowers for weeks ! Look here, Mrs. Freeman ; 
is there not to be an exception made for me? Papa 
said, when I was coming here, that my 'happiness was to 
be the first thing considered. Don’t you agree with 
him? Don’t you wish me to be very, very happy?” 

“I do, my love. But your truest happiness is not 
secured by giving you your own way in everything.” 

“Oh, but I hate self-denial, and that dreadful motto 
— ‘No cross, no crown.’ I’m like a butterfly — I can’t 
live without sunshine. Papa agrees with me that sun- 
shine is necessary for life.” 

“So it is, Bridget. But you will permit me, an old 
woman compared to you, to point out a fact — the self- 
denying people are the happy ones, the selfish are the 
miserable.. Take your own way now in your youth, sip 
each pleasure as it comes, turn from the disagreeables, 
trample on those who happen to be in your way, as you 
did on that rosebud just now, and you will lay up mis- 
ery for yourself in the future. You will be a very 
wretched woman when you reach my age.” 

“How solemnly you speak,” said Bridget, tears com- 


32 


BA SHF UL FI F 1 FEN. 


ing slowly up and filling her eyes. '‘Is that a sermon? 
It makes me feel as if someone were walking over my 
grave. Why do you say things of that sort? I’m 
superstitious, you know. I’m very easily impressed. 
You oughtn’t to do it — you oughtn’t to frighten a 
stranger when she has just come over to your hard, 
cold sort of country.” 

“But, my dear child, our hearts are not cold. I 
assure you, Bridget, I am most anxious to win your 
love, and so also is Dorothy Collingwood.” 

“Is she? I love her — she is a sweet darling ! And 
you really want me to love you, Mrs. Freeman? Well, 
then, I will. Take a hug now — there, that’s comfort- 
able.” 

Bridget's arms were flung impulsively round her 
governess’s neck, and then one hand was tucked within 
the good lady’s arm. 

Mrs. Freeman could not help uttering a faint, inward 
sigh. 

‘T must break you in gradually, dear,” she said. 
“As this is your first day at school you need not do any 
lessons, but you must come with me presently to the 
schoolroom in order that I may find out something 
about your attainments.” 

“My attainments! Good gracious, I haven’t any!” 

“Don’t say ‘good gracious,’ Bridget ; it’s a very ugly 
way of expressing yourself. You have learnt some- 
thing, haven’t you?” 

“Learnt something? I should rather think I have. 
You question me on dogs, their different breeds, and 
their complaints ! Do you know, Mrs. Freeman, what’s 
the best thing to do for a dog if he shows signs of 
distemper?” 


I ADORE MUSIC. 


33 


don^t mean that sort of learning, Bridget. I mean 
what you acquire from books — grammar, French, 
music.” 

“I adore music; I play by ear all the old Irish jigs 
and the melodies. Oh, doesn’t father cry when I play 
‘The Harp that once through Tara’s Halls,’ and ‘She 
is far from the Land,’ and ‘The Minstrel Boy.’ And 
oh, Mrs. Freeman, even you, though you are a bit old 
and stiff, could not help dancing if I strummed ‘Garry 
Owen’ for you.” 

‘‘Well, my dear, you must play it for me some 
evening, but we don’t allow strumming at the 
Court.” 

“Oh, good gra ! I mean, mercy Moses!” 

“That’s as bad as the other expression, Bridget.” 

‘‘I expect I shan’t be allowed to talk at all.” 

“Yes, you will. You’ll soon learn to control your 
tongue and to speak in a ladylike way.” 

“I loathe ladylike ways.” 

‘‘Now, my dear child, will you come into the house 
with me? I ought to be in the schoolroom now.” 

‘‘Please wait one moment, Mrs. Freeman.” 

‘‘Yes, my dear, what js it?” 

“Are you going to be cross when you find I don’t 
know your sort of things?” 

‘‘I hope not, Bridget.” 

‘‘It will be awfully unfair if you are, for I could pose 
you finely on my subjects. What’s the first thing to do 
for a dog who shows symptoms of hydrophobia? How 
do you land a salmon? What keeps a gun from kick- 
ing? How does a dear old daddy like his pipe filled 
with tobacco? What is the best way to keep your seat 
when you ride bare-backed, and the horse runs away? 


34 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Ha, ha, I thought I’d pose you. I could have a very 
jolly school of my own, if I tried.” 

“Bridget, my dear, before you come into the school- 
room I must request that you go upstairs and change 
your dress.” 

“Change my dress! Now I really don't understand 
you. Am I to come down in my dressing-gown?” 

“No. You are to take off that unsuitable afternoon 
costume you are now wearing, and put on a neat print 
dress for your morning work.” 

“This is the very plainest dress I possess, Mrs. Free- 
man ; I pulled a lot out of my trunk this morning to 
look at them. There was a sk3^-blue delaine with 
coffee lace, and a pink surah, and ” 

“Spare me, my dear. I really am in too great a 
hurry to hear a list of your wardrobe. Is it possible 
that your father sent you to school with all that heap 
of finery, and nothing sensible to wear?” 

“It wasn’t father, it was Aunt Kathleen. She chose 
my outfit in Paris. Oh, I do think it’s lovely. I do 
feel that it’s hard to be crushed on every point.” 

“Well, dear, you are not to blame. I shall take 
you to Eastcliff this afternoon, and order some plain 
dresses to be made up for you.” 

“Oh, goodness — no, I mustn’t — mercy! nor that 
either; oh, I — I say, Mrs. Freeman, don’t let the new 
dresse^ be frumpy, or I’ll break my heart. I do so 
adore looking at myself in a lovely dress.” 

“Come into the schoolroom with me,” said Mrs. 
Freeman. She was wondering how it would be possi- 
ble for her to keep Bridget O’Hara in her school. 

T 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE QUEEN OF THE SCHOOL. 

It is not an easy matter to break in a wild colt, and 
this was the process which had now to take place with 
regard to the new girl, whose eccentricities and daring, 
whose curious mixture of ignorance and knowledge, of 
affectionate sympathy and careless levity, made her at 
once the adored and detested of her companions. 

In every sense of the word Bridget was unexpected. 
She had an extraordinary aptitude for arithmetic, and 
took a high place in the school on account of her math- 
ematics. The word mathematics, however, she had 
never even heard before. She could gabble French as 
fluently as a native, but did not know a word ,of the 
grammar. She had a perfect ear for music, could sing 
like a bird, and play any air she once heard, but she 
could scarcely read music at all, and was refractory 
and troublesome when asked to learn notes. 

“Just play the piece over to me,” she said to her 
master. “I’ll do it if you play it over. Yes, that’s it 
— turn, turn, tummy, turn, turn. Oughtn’t you to crash 
the air out a bit there? I think you ought. Yes, 
that’s it — isnt it lovely? Now let me try.” 

Her attempts were extremely good, but when it 
came to laboriously struggling through her written 
score, all was hopeless confusion, tears, and c^espair. 

With each fresh study Bridget showed th^ queer 


35 


3 ^ 


BASflFUL FIPTEEF^, 


vagaries of a really clever mind run more or less to 
seed. She did everything in a dramatic, excitable style 
— she was all on wires, scarcely ever still, laughing one 
moment, weeping the next; the school had never 
known such a time as it underwent during the first 
week of her residence among them. 

After that period she found her place to a certain 
extent, made some violent friends and some active 
enemies, was adored by the little girls, on whom she 
showered lollipops, kisses, and secrets, and was disliked 
more or less by every girl in the sixth and fifth form, 
Dorothy Collingwood excepted. 

All this time Miss Percival, the head girl of the 
school, was absent. She had been ill, and had gone 
home for a short change. She did not return until 
Bridget had been at the Court a fortnight. 

By this time the preparations for the Fancy Fair 
were in active progress. Janet May had obtained her 
own wish with regard to the Committee, each member 
of which was allowed to choose a band of workers 
under herself, to make articles for the coming sale. 

The Fair was the great event to which the girls 
looked forward, and in the first excitement of such 
an unusual proceeding each of them worked with a 
will. 

Janet was the heart and soul of everything. She was 
a girl with a great deal of independence of character; 
she was not destitute of ambition — she was remarkable 
for common sense — she was sharp in her manner, dowm- 
right in her words, and capable, painstaking, and ener- 
getic in all she did. 

She was a dependable girl — clever up to a certain 
point, nice to those with whom she agreed, affection- 


I*M SORRY THAT I'M STUPID. 37 

ate to the people who did not specially prize her affec- 
tion. 

Janet was never known to lose her temper, but she 
had a sarcastic tongue, and people did not like to lay 
themselves open to the cutting remarks which often and 
unsparingly fell from her lips. 

She used this tongue most frequently on Bridget 
O’Hara, but for the first time she was met by a won- 
dering, puzzled, good-humored, and non-comprehend- 
ing gaze. 

‘‘What does Janet mean?” Bridget would whisper to 
her nearest companion, ‘‘/f she saying something 
awfully clever? I’m sorry that I’m stupid — I don’t 
quite catch her meaning.” 

These remarks usually turned the tables against Janet 
May, but they also had another effect. She began to 
be sparing of her sharp, unkind words in Bridget’s hear- 
ing. This, however, did not prevent her hating the 
new girl with the most cordial hatred she had ever yet 
bestowed upon anyone. 

Bridget was a fortnight at the school, and had more 
or less shaken down into her place, when the evening 
arrived on which Miss Percival was to return. 

Dorothy, Bridget, and a number of the girls of the 
lower school were walking up and down a broad road 
which led. to the shore. They were talking and laugh- 
ing. The smaller girls were dancing and running 
about in their eagerness. Some very funny proposal 
had undoubtedly been made, and much explosive 
mirth was the result. 

Janet and Olive Moore were returning slowly to the 
house after a vigorous game of tennis. They stopped 
to look down at the group who surrounded Dorothy. 


38 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“We have lost her,” said Olive, with a sigh. 

“Lost whom?” answered Janet in her tart voice. 

“Why, Dorothy Collingwood ; she has gone over to 
the ranks of the enemy.” 

' What do you mean, Olive?” Olive turned and 
looked at Janet. 

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” she an- 
swered ; “you know who the enemy is — at least you 
know who is your enemy.” 

“I never knew before that I had an enemy,” said 
Janet, in her guarded voice. 

Olive looked at her steadily. 

“Come now, Janet,” she said, “confession is good for 
the soul — own — now do own that you cordially hate 
the new girl, Bridget O’Hara.” 

“I’m sick of the new girl,” said Janet; “if you are 
going to talk about her I shall go into the house; I 
want to look over my French preparation. M. le 
Comte is coming to-morrow morning, and he is so 
frightfully over-particular that I own I’m a little afraid 
of him.” 

“Nonsense, Janet, you know you’re o.ne of the best 
French scholars in the school. You won’t get out of 
answering my question by that flimsy excuse. Don’t 
you hate Miss O’Hara?” 

“Hate her?” said Janet; “there must be a certain 
strength about a girl to make you hate her. I’ve a 
contempt for Bridget, but I don’t rouse myself to the 
exertion of hating.” 

“Oh, well ; it’s all the same,” said Olive. “You won’t 
admit the feeling that animates your breast, but I know 
that it is there, ch^rie. Now I have got something to 
confess on my own account— I don’t like her either,” 


TV£JJir SHE IS NOT, 


39 


'‘You have too good taste to like her, Olive, but do 
let us talk about something more interesting. How 
are you getting on with that table cover for the 
fair?” 

”Oh, I’ll come to that by and by; now about Miss 
O’Hara. Janet, I deny that she’s weak.” 

“You deny that she’s weak,” repeated Janet. “I 
wonder what your idea of strength is, Olive.” 

“She’s not learned, I admit,” replied Olive, “but 
weak! no, she’s not weak; no weak character could be 
so audacious, so fearless, so indifferent to her own 
ignorance.” 

“If she had any strength, she’d be ashamed of her 
ignorance,” retorted Janet. 

“I don’t agree with you,” answered Olive. “Strength 
shows itself in many forms. Miss O’Hara is pretty.” 

“Pretty,” interrupted Janet, scorn curling her lip. 

“Yes, Janet, she’s pretty and she’s rich, and she’s 
destitute of fear. She is quite certain to have her own 
party in the school. I repeat,” continued Olive, “that 
there is no weakness in Bridget. I grant that she is 
about the most irritating creature I know, but weak 
she is not.” 

“Well, well,” interrupted Janet impatiently, “have 
your own way, Olive. Make that tiresome, disagree- 
able girl a female Hercules if you fancy, only cease to 
talk about her. That is all I have to beg.” 

“I must say one thing,” replied Olive, “and then I 
will turn to a more congenial theme. I hope Evelyn 
Percival won’t take Miss O’Hara’s part. You know, 
Janet, what strong prejudices Evelyn has.” 

“Oh, don’t I!” said Janet, stamping her small f6ot. 

''And if she happens to fancy Bridget she won’t mind 


40 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


a word we say against her. She never does mind 
what anyone says. You know that, Janet.’' 

“I know,” echoed Janet, a queer angry light filling 
her eyes for a minute. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! What 
with our examinations and the Fancy Fair, and all this 
worry about the new girl, life scarcely seems worth liv- 
ing — it really doesn’t.” 

“Poor darling!” said Olive, in a sympathetic tone. 
“I thought Fd tell you, Janet, that whatever hap- 
pened Fd take your part.” 

“Thanks!” said Janet calmly. 

She looked at her friend with a cool, critical eye. 

Olive Moore belonged to the toadying faction in 
the school. Toadies, however, can be useful, and 
Janet was by no means above making use of Olive in 
case of need. 

She scrutinized Olive’s face now, a slightly satirical 
expression hovering round her somewhat thin lips. 

“Thanks!” she repeated again. “If I want your 
help ril ask for it, Olive. Fm going into the house 
now, for I really must get on with my preparation.” 

Janet turned away, and Olive was obliged to look 
out for a fresh companion to attach herself to. 

She looked at the merry group on the lawn, and a 
desire to join them, even though of course she knew 
she was in no sense one of them, came over her. 

She ran lightly down the grassy slope, and touched 
Dorothy on her arm. 

“Fm here, Dolly,” she said, in her rather wistful 
manner. 

“Oh, well ; it’s all right for you to be here, I sup- 
pose,” said Dorothy. “What were you saying, 
Bridget? I didn’t catch that last sentence of yours,” 


A FIGURE OF SPEECH. 


4i 

was going up the staircase,” continued Bridget. 
“I held a lighted candle in my hand. It was an awful 
night — you should have heard the wind howling. We 
keep some special windbags of our own at the Castle, 
and when we open the strings of one, why — well, there 
is a hurricane, that’s all.” 

“Oh, she’s telling a story,” whispered Olive un- 
der her breath. She settled herself contentedly to 
listen. 

“Go on; tell us quickly what you did with the 
candle, Biddy!” cried little Violet, pulling her new 
friend by the arm. 

“Don’t shake me so, Vi, my honey; I’m coming to 
the exciting place — now then. Well, as I was going up 
the stairs all quite lonely, and by myself, never a soul 
within half a mile of me ” 

“But your castle isn’t half a mile big,” said Katie, 
another small girl. “And you did say your father 
lived there with you, and, of course, there must have 
been some servants.” 

“Well, dear, well! half a mile is a figure of speech. 
That’s a way we have in Ireland — we figure of speech 
everything; it’s much more graphic. Now, to go on. 
I was running up the stairs with my candle, and the 
wind rushing after me like mad, and the Castle rocking 

as if it were in an agony, when What do you 

think happened?” 

“What?” said Katie, her eyes growing big with fas- 
cination and alarm. 

“The wind dropped as if it were dead. After screech- 
ing as if it had the tongues of hundreds of Furies, it was 
mummer than the timidest mouse that ever crept. The 
Castle ceased to rock ; it was the suddenest and dead- 


42 


BASHFUL FI F TEEM. 


est calm you could possibly imagine. It was miles 
more frightful than the storm. Just then there came a 
little puff of a breeze out of the solid stone wall, and 
out went my candle.’’ 

“O Bridget !” exclaimed the little girls, starting back 
in affright. 

“Bridget, you are talking a great deal of nonsense,” 
said Dorothy, “and I for one am not going to listen to 
you. We are much too sensible to believe in ghost 
stories here, and there is no use in your trying to 
frighten us. Good-by, all of you ; I am off to the 
house !” 

Dorothy detached herself from Bridget’s clinging 
arm, and ran quickly up the sloping lawn. 

Bridget stood and watched her. Olive kept a little 
apart, and the smaller girls clustered close together, 
watching their new friend’s face with interest and 
admiration. 

The Irish girl looked certainly pretty enough to win 
any number of susceptible small hearts at that moment. 
Her pale blue dress set off her graceful figure and fair 
complexion to the best advantage. Her mirthful, 
lovely eyes were raised to follow Dorothy as she disap- 
peared into the house. Her lips were parted in a mis- 
chievous smile. She raised one hand to push back the 
rebellious locks of chestnut curls from her forehead. 

“Now, Biddy, go on, Biddy!” exclaimed the chil- 
dren. “We love ghost stories, so do tell us more 
about the candle.” 

“No!” said Bridget. ''She says they aren’t good fof 
you, so you shan’t have them. Let’s think of some 
more fun. Who’s that new girl, who, you say, is going 
to arrive to-night?” 


OUR QUEEJV. 


43 


“New girl!” exclaimed Katie, “why, she’s about the 
very oldest girl in the school — the oldest and the 
nicest. She’s the head of the school. We call her our 
queen. She’s not like you, Biddy, of course; but 
she’s very nice — awfully nice !” 

“And what’s the darling’s name?” asked Bridget. 

“Evelyn Percival. Doesn’t it sound pretty?” 

“Faix, then, it does, honey. I’m all agog to see this 
lovely queen. Why has she been absent so long? 
Doesn’t Mrs. Freeman require any lessons of the sweet 
creature? Oh, then, it’s I that would like to be in her 
shoes, if that’s the case.” 

“She has been ill, Biddy,” said Violet. “Evelyn 
has been ill, but she is better now; she’s coming 
back to-night. We are all glad, for we all love 
her.” 

“Let’s run down the road, then, and give her a wel- 
come,” said Bridget. “In Ireland we’d take the horses 
off the carriage, and draw her home ourselves. Of 
course, we can’t do that, but we might go to meet her, 
waving branches of trees, and we might raise a 
hearty shout when we saw her coming. Come 
along, girls — what a lark! I’ll show you how we do 
this sort of thing in old Ireland! Come! we’ll cut 
down boughs as we go along. Come ! be quick, be 
quick !” 

“But we are not allowed to cut the boughs, 
Bridget,” said Katie. 

“And we are not allowed to go out of the grounds 
by ourselves,” cried several other voices. 

“We are not by ourselves when we are together,” 
replied Bridget. “Come along, girls, don’t be such 
little despicable cowards! I’ll square it with Mrs. 


44 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Freeman. You trust me, Mrs. Freeman will forgive 
us everything when the queen is coming back. Now, 
do let’s be quick, we haven’t a minute to lose!” 

Small girls are easily influenced, and Bridget and her 
tribe rushed down the avenue, shouting and whooping 
as they went. 

Olive had no inclination to join them. They had 
taken no notice of her, and she was not sufficiently fas- 
cinated by Bridget to run any risk for her sake. She 
knew that her present proceedings were wrong, but she 
was not at all brave enough to raise her voice in protest. 
She walked slowly back to the house, wondering 
whether she should go and tell Janet, or sink down 
lazily on a cozy seat and go on with a story book 
which was sticking out of her pocket. 

As she was approaching the house she was met 
by Miss Delicia, who stopped to speak kindly to 
her. 

“Well, my dear child,” she said, “I suppose you, like 
all the rest of us, are on tenter hooks for our dear 
Evelyn’s return. From the accounts we received this 
morning, she seems to be quite well and strong again, 
and it ivill be such a comfort to have her back. I 
don’t know how it is, but the school is quite a different 
place when she is there.” 

“We’ll all be delighted to have her again, of course,” 
said Olive. “And is she really quite well, Miss 
Delicia?” 

“Yes, my love, or she would not be returning.” 

Miss Delicia hurried on, intent on some housewifely 
mission, and Olive entering the house went down a 
long stone passage which led to the sixth form schooh 
room. 


tP'jrAr j\roArsEArs£ you talk! 


45 


Janet was there, busily preparing her French lesson 
for M. le Comte. She was a very ambitious girl, and 
was determined to carry off as many prizes as possible 
at the coming midsummer examinations. She scarcely 
raised her eyes when Olive appeared. 

“Janet !” 

“Yes, Olive; Fm very busy. Do you want any- 
thing?” 

“Only to tell you that that pet of yours, Bridget 
O’Hara, is likely to get herself into a nice scrape. She 
has run down the road with a number of the small fry 
to meet Evelyn. They are taking boughs of trees with 
them, and are going to shout, or do something extra- 
ordinary, when they see her arriving. Janet, what’s 
the matter? How queer you look!” 

“I’m very busy, Olive; I wish you’d go away!” 

“But you look queer. Are you frightened about 
anything?” 

“No, no; what nonsense you talk! What is there 
to be frightened about? Do go; I can’t learn this 
difficult French poetry while you keep staring at 
me !” 

“I wish you’d say what you think about Bridget. 
Isn’t she past enduring, getting all the little ones to 
disobey like this? Why, she might be expelled ! Yes, 
Janet; yes. I’m going. You needn’t look at me as if 
you’d like to eat me!” 

Olive left the room with slow, unwilling footsteps, 
and Janet bent her head over the copy of Moliere she 
was studying. 

“Nothing in the world could be stupider than French 
poetry,” she muttered. “How am I to get this into my 
head? What a nuisance Olive is with her stories — she 


46 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


has disturbed my train of thoughts. Certainly, it’s no 
affair of mine what that detestable wild Irish girl does. 
I shall always hate her, and whatever happens I can 
never get myself to tolerate Evelyn. Now, to get back 
to my poetry. I have determined to win this prize. I 
won’t think of Evelyn and Bridget any more.” 

Janet bent her fair face again over the open page; a 
faint flush had risen in each of her cheeks. 

She was beginning to collect her somewhat scat- 
tered thoughts, when the door was opened suddenly, 
and, to her surprise, Mrs. Freeman came into the 
room. 

“Pardon me for disturbing you,” she said; “I did 
not know anyone was in the schoolroom at present.” 

“I am looking over my French lesson, madam,” 
answered Janet, in her respectful tones. “It’s a little 
more difficult than usual, and I thought I’d have a 
quiet half hour here, trying to master it.” 

“Quite right, Janet, I am glad you are so industrious. 
I won’t disturb you for more than a minute, my love. 
I just want to look out of this window. It is the only 
one that commands a view of the road from Eastcliff. 
Evelyn ought to be here by now.” 

Janet did not say any more. She bent forward, 
ostensibly to renew her studies, in reality to hide a 
jealous feeling which surged up in her heart. 

What a fuss everyone was making about that stupid 
Evelyn Percival. Here was the head mistress even 
quite in a fume because she was a minute or two late 
in putting in an appearance. 

It really was too absurd. Janet could not help 
fidgeting almost audibly. 

“Janet,” said Mrs. P'reeman, “come here for a mo- 


TifAT SHYING HORSE. 47 

ment. I want you to use your young eyes. Do you 
see any carriage coming down 4he hill?” 

Janet sprang from her seat with apparent alacrity. 

“Look, dear,” said the governess. “What is that 
distant speck? I am so terribly near-sighted that I 
cannot make out whether it is a carriage or cart of 
some sort.” 

“It is a covered wagon,” said Janet. “I see it quite 
plainly. There is no carriage at all in view, Mrs. Free- 
man.” 

“My dear, I must tell you that I am a little anxious. 
Hickman took that shying horse, Caspar, to bring 
Evelyn home. I intended Miss Molly to have been 
sent for her. Dear Evelyn is still so nervous after her 
bad illness that I would not for the world have her 
startled in any way. And really, Caspar gets worse and 
worse. What is the matter, Janet? You have started 
now.” 

“Nothing,” replied Janet. “I — I — shall I run out to 
the front, Mrs. Freeman, and listen if I can hear the 
carriage? You can hear it a very long way off from 
the brow of the hill.” 

“Do, my love, and call to me if you do. I would 
not have that dear girl frightened for the world. I am 
more vexed than I can say with Hickman.” 

Janet ran out of the room. Her heart was beating 
hard and fast. Should she tell Mrs. Freeman what 
Olive had just confided to her, that Bridget and a num- 
ber of the smaller children of the school had rushed 
down the road to meet Evelyn, carrying boughs in 
their hands, and doubtless shouting loudly in their 
glee? 

Caspar was a sensitive horse; even Janet, who had 


48 


BA^ttFliL FIFTEEW 


no physical fear about her, disliked the way he started, 
and shied sometimes at his own shadow. It was 
scarcely likely that he would bear the shock which all 
those excited children would give him. 

Oh, yes, she ought to tell ; and yet — and yet 

She stood wavering with her own conscience. Cas- 
par was nervous, but he was not vicious. 

All that could possibly happen would be a little 
fright for Evelyn, and a larger measure of disgrace for 
Bridget. And why should Janet interfere? Why 
should she tell tales of her schoolfellows? Her story 
would be misinterpreted by that faction of the girls 
who already had made Bridget their idol. 

No, there was nothing to be alarmed about. Evelyn 
was too silly, with her nerves and her fads. Janet 
stood by the bend of the hill. Her thoughts were so 
busy that she scarcely troubled herself to listen for the 
approaching carriage. 

She stood for a minute or two, then walked slowly 
back to the window, out of which her schoolmistress 
leaned. 

“I don’t hear any sound whatever, Mrs. Freeman,” 
she said, “but please don’t be alarmed; Evelyn’s train 
may have been late.” 

“Hark! Stop talking!” said Mrs. Freeman. 

There was a sound, a commotion. Several steps 
were heard ; eager voices were raised in expostulation 
and distress. 

“Let me go,” said the head mistress. 

She stepped out of the open window, and walked 
rapidly across the wide gravel sweep. 

Alice, Violet, and several more of the little 
girls were running and tumbling up the grassy slope. 


IT'S ALL MY FAULT! 


49 


The moment they saw Mrs. Freeman they ran to 
her. 

“Oh, come at once !'’ said Violet, “there has been an 
accident, and Evelyn is hurt. Bridget is with her. 
Come, come at once!” 

The child’s words were almost incoherent. Alice, 
who was not quite so excitable, began to pour out a 
queer story. 

“I know we’ve all been awfully naughty, but we 
didn’t think Caspar would mind the boughs. He 
turned sharp round and something happened to the 
wheels of the carriage — and — and — oh, Mrs. Freeman, 
do come. I think Evelyn must be dead, she’s lying 
so still.” 

“Are you there, Janet?” said Mrs. Freeman. “Go 
into the house, and ask Miss Patience to follow me 
down the road. And see that someone goes for Dr. 
Hart. Alice, you can come back with me. The rest 
of the little girls are to go into the playroom, and to 
stay there until I come to them.” 

Mrs. Freeman spoke calmly, but there was a look 
about her face which gave Janet a very queer sensa'tion. 
The schoolmistress took Alice’s hand, and walked as 
quickly as she could to the scene of the accident. 

The carriage lay smashed a couple of hundred yards 
from the gates of the avenue. 

Bridget was sitting in the middle of the dusty road 
with a girl’s head on her lap. The girl’s figure was 
stretched out flat and motionless; her hat was off, and 
Bridget was pushing back some waves of fair hair from 
her temples. 

“It’s all my fault, Mrs. Freeman,” said Bridget 

O’Hara, looking up with a tear-stained face at hergov^* 


50 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


erness. “/made the children come, and / made them cut 
the branches off the trees, and we ran, and shouted as 
we ran. I didn’t think it would do any harm, it was all 
a joke, and to welcome her, for they said she was the 
queen, but no one is to blame in all the wide world 
but me.” 

“Oh, what a wicked girl you are,” said Mrs. Free- 
man, roused out of her customary gentle manner by 
the sight of Evelyn’s motionless form. “I can’t speak 
to you at this moment, Bridget O’Hara; go away, 
leave Evelyn to me. Evelyn, my darling, look at me, 
speak to me — say you are not hurt !” 

When Mrs. Freeman told Bridget to go away and 
leave her, the Irish girl stopped playing with the tendrils 
of hair on Evelyn’s forehead, and looked at her gover- 
ness with a blank expression stealing over her face. 

She did not attempt to rise to her feet, however, and 
Mrs. Freeman was far too much absorbed to take any 
further notice of her. 

“If I had only some smelling salts,” she began. 

Bridget slipped her hand into her pocket, and pulled 
out an exquisitely embossed viniagrette. 

The governess took it without a word, and opening 
it applied it to Evelyn’s nostrils. 

After two or three applications the injured girl stirred 
faintly, a shade of color came into her cheeks, and she 
opened her eyes. 

“There, thank Heaven, I haven’t killed her!” ex- 
claimed Bridget. 

She burst into sudden frantic weeping. 

“I believe I am more frightened than hurt,” said 
Miss Percival, struggling to sit up, and smiling at Mrs. 
Freentan, “I’m so awfully sorry that IVe lost my 


THANK GOD FOR THAT. 


51 


nerve. Where am I? what has happened? I only 
remeifcber Caspar turning right round and looking at 
me, and some people shouting, and then the carriage 
went over, and I cannot recall anything more. But I 
don’t think — no — I am sure I am not seriously hurt.” 

“Thank God for that, my darling,” said Mrs. Free- 
man. She put her arm round the young girl, kissed 
her tenderly, and drew her away from Bridget. 


CHAPTER V. 

BREAKING IN A WILD COLT. 

Miss Percival’s accident, and Bridget O’Hara’s 
share in it, were the subjects of conversation not only 
that night, but the next morning. 

The doctor had come to see Evelyn, had pronounced 
her whole in limb, and not as much shaken by her fall 
out of her carriage as might have been expected. After 
prescribing a day in bed, and all absence of excitement, 
he went away, promising to look in again in a few 
days. 

Mrs. Freeman breathed a sigh of relief. 

“And now,” she said, turning to her two sisters, “the 
question of questions is this: what is to be done with 
Bridget O’Hara? Is she to continue at Mulberry Court 
after such a daring act of disobedience? Must the 
safety of the other scholars be sacrificed to her?” 

“I’d punish her very severely,” said Miss Patience. 
“I am sure punishment is what she wants. She ought 
to be broken in.” 

“I don’t believe you’ll ever drive her,” said Miss 
Delicia. “I know that sort of character. It’s only 
hardened when it’s driven.” 

“I shall do nothing to-night,” said Mrs. Freeman. 
“But to-morrow, after morning school, I must speak to 
Bridget. Her conduct during that interview will more 
or less decide what steps I must take,” 
s? 


THE HEAD GIRL. S3 

The next morning, after breakfast, Mrs. Freeman 
went upstairs to sit with her favorite Evelyn. 

Evelyn Percival, the head girl of the school, was now 
between seventeen and eighteen years of age. She was 
a rather pale, rather plain girl ; her forehead was broad 
and low, which gave indications of thoughtfulness more 
than originality ; her wide open gray eyes had a singu- 
larly sweet expression ; they were surrounded by dark 
eyelashes, and were the best features in a face which 
otherwise might have appeared almost insignificant. 

But plain as Evelyn undoubtedly was, no one who 
knew her long ever remarked about her appearance, or 
gave a second thought to the fact that she could lay 
small claim to physical beauty. 

There was a spirit that shone out of those gray eyes, 
and lent sweetness to that mouth, which was in itself so 
beautiful that it radiated all over Evelyn, and gave her 
that strong fascination which those who are striving 
heavenward ever possess. 

She never came into a room without exercising in a 
silent, unobtrusive, very gentle way, a marked effect 
for good. 

Uncharitable talk about others ceased when Evelyn 
drew near. Selfishness slunk away ashamed. 

All the other girls in the school tried to be good when 
Evelyn was by, not because she would reproach them, 
but because she had a certain way about her which 
made goodness so attractive that they were forced to 
follow it. 

She was not a specially clever girl, nevertheless she 
was now, in virtue of her seniority, and a certain pains- * 
taking determination, which made her capable. of mas- 
tering her studies, at the head of the school. 


54 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


There are some jealous people who dislike the beau- 
tiful because they are beautiful, the good because they 
are good. Girls with this special character are to be 
found in every school. Janet May was one of them, 
but perhaps in the whole of Mulberry Court she was 
the only person who at this juncture cordially disliked 
Evelyn Percival. 

“It is delightful to have you back again,” said Mrs. 
Freeman, bending over her pupil and kissing her. “And 
really, Evelyn, you look almost well. Oh, my dear 
child, what a fright I got about you last night.” 

“But I’m all right to-day,” said Evelyn, in her bright 
voice. “I don’t feel any bad effects whatever from my 
accident. I can’t think why I was so stupid as to 
faint, and give you a fright. I ought really to have 
more control over my nerves.” 

“My dear, you have been ill, which accounts for 
your nervousness. But in any case a person with the 
stoutest nerves may be pardoned for fainting if she is 
flung out of a carriage. I cannot imagine how you 
escaped as you have done.” 

“I feel quite well,” replied Evelyn, “quite well, and 
disinclined to stay in bed. I want to get up and see 
all my friends. You don’t know how I have been 
looking forward to this.” 

“You shall see the girls one at a time in your room, 
darling, for whether you feel well or not, the doctor 
wishes you to remain quiet to-day.” 

Evelyn gave a very faint sigh, and turning her head 
looked out of the window. 

Mrs. Freeman went over and drew back the curtains. 

“You can watch the sea from your bed, my dear,” 
she said, “and I will send Dorothy to sit with you after 


SUCH PRESENCE OF MIND. 55 

morning school. Now I want to ask you if you can 
give any idea of how the accident occurred?” 

A slight additional color came into Miss Percival’s 
cheeks. 

“Caspar shied at something,” she said. 

“Yes, but at what?” 

“Well, Mrs. Freeman, you know how fond the chil- 
dren are of me, and I of them. They came to meet 
me, several of the little ones, and one tall, beautiful 
girl, whom I do not know. Perhaps they were all over- 
excited. They shouted a good deal, and waved 
branches of trees. Poor Caspar evidently could not 
stand it; but they really did nothing that anyone 
could blame them about.” 

“Nonsense, Evelyn. They disobeyed my most strin- 
gent orders. Are they not to be blamed for that?” 

“Hadn’t they got leave to come to meet me?” 

“No, it was that wild Irish girl’s doing. I really 
don’t know what to do with her.” 

“Is she the beautiful girl who was the ringleader? I 
don’t think I ever saw anyone with such presence of 
mind. She absolutely caught me as I was flung out 
of the carriage. I felt her arms round me ; that was 
why I was not hurt.” 

“Yes, I am sure she has a good deal of physical 
courage, but that does not alter the fact of her having 
defied my authority and led the children into mischief.” 

“Poor girl!” said Evelyn, a wistful expression com- 
ing into her eyes. 

“Now, my dear, you are not going to plead for her. 
I must manage her my own way. I will leave you 
now, Evelyn. Rest all you can, dear, and if you are very 
good you may perhaps be allowed to join us at supper.” 


56 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Mrs. Freeman left her pupil’s room, and went down- 
stairs. 

Evelyn Percival was one of the few girls in the 
school who was privileged to have a room to herself. 
Her little room was prettily draped in white and 
pink. It was called the Pink Room, and adjoined 
the Blue Room, which was occupied by Bridget 
O’Hara. 

On her way downstairs Mrs. Freeman stepped for a 
moment into Bridget’s room. Her pupil’s large travel- 
ing trunks had been removed to the box room, but 
many showy dresses and much finery of various sorts 
lay scattered about. 

Bridget was evidently not blessed with the bump of 
order. Valuable rings and bracelets lay, some on the 
mantelpiece, some on the dressing table ; ribbons, scarfs, 
handkerchiefs, littered the chairs, the chest of drawers, 
and even the bed. A stray stocking poked its foot ob- 
trusively out of one of the over-packed drawers of the 
wardrobe. Photographs of friends and of scenery lay 
face downward on the mantelpiece, and kept company 
with Bridget’s brushes and combs in her dressing-table 
drawer, 

Mrs. Freeman was very particular with regard to 
tidiness, and the condition of this very pretty room 
filled her with grave displeasure. The rules with 
regard to tidy rooms, neatly kept drawers, a place for 
everything and everything in its place, were most 
stringent at Mulberry Court, but up to the present 
rules mattered nothing at all to Bridget O’Hara. 

“There is nothing whatever for it,’’ murmured Mrs. 
Freeman; “I must punish the poor child in a way she 
V'ill really feel. If this fails, and I cannot break her in 


SHE WAS ALONE. 57 

before the end of the term, I must ask her father to 
remove her.” 

Mrs. Freeman sighed as she said these words. 

She went downstairs and entered her own private 
sitting room. It was now half-past eleven o’clock, and 
morning school was over. The weather was too hot for 
regular walks, and the girls were disporting themselves 
according to their own will and pleasure on the lawns and 
in the beautiful grounds which surrounded the school. 

Mrs. Freeman could see them as she sat in her sit- 
ting room. 

Janet, accompanied by Olive and Ruth, was pacing 
slowly backward and forward under some shady trees. 
Her satellites were devoted to her, and Janet’s slender 
figure was very erect, and her manner somewhat dicta- 
torial. Dorothy Collingwood was not to be seen, she 
had evidently gone to join Evelyn upstairs. The girls 
of the middle school were preparing to exert themselves 
over more than one tennis match. The smaller chil- 
dren were going down to the shore. 

Bridget, her hat hanging on her arm, defiance very 
marked on her brow, came suddenly into view. She 
was alone, and Mrs. Freeman noticed that Janet and 
her two companions stopped to look at her. as if they 
rather enjoyed the spectacle. They paused for a mo- 
ment, stared rudely, then turned their backs on Miss 
O’Hara. 

Bridget wore a white muslin dress with a long train. 
Her silver girdle was clasped round her waist. She went 
deliberately up to a rose tree in full flower, and, picking 
two or three half-opened buds, put them in her girdle. 

Mrs. Freeman got up, and sounded an electric bell 
in the wall. 


58 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


When the servant answered her summons, she desired 
her to ask Miss O’Hara to come to her immediately. 

In about ten minutes’ time Bridget came into the 
room without knocking. Her hat was still swinging on 
her arm; there was a wild>rose color on her cheeks; 
her eyes had a certain excited, untamed gleam in them. 

“Did you want me, Mrs. Freeman?” she said, in her 
lazy, rich, somewhat impertinent voice. 

”I certainly want you, Bridget. I am not in the habit 
of sending for my pupils if I don’t wish to speak to 
them.” 

Bridget uttered a faint sigh. 

“Well, I’m here,” she said; “what is it?” She still 
used that half-mocking, indifferent voice. 

Mrs. Freeman could scarcely restrain her impatience. 

“I’m afraid I have some unpleasant things to talk 
about. Miss O’Hara,” she said. “But, before I begin, I 
must distinctly request you to remember that you are a 
young girl in the presence of the lady who has been 
appointed by your father to guide, direct, and com- 
mand you.” 

“Command me?” said Bridget, her nostrils dilating. 

“Yes; does not a mistress always command her 
pupils?” 

“When she can,” replied Bridget. Her hands 
dropped to her sides. She lowered her eyes; her 
proud lips were firmly shut. 

After a little pause, during which neither mistress 
nor pupil spoke, the pupil raised her head. 

“I hate school,” she said. “I want to go back to 
the Castle. Can I go to-day?” 

“No, Bridget, you cannot. You have been sent here 
to be under my care, and you must remain with me at 
least until the end of the term.” 


BIDDY IS NOT NAPPY. 


59 


“When will that be?” 

“Not for over a month?” 

“Couldn’t you write to father, Mrs. Freeman, and tell 
him that I am not happy? Say, ‘Biddy is not happy, 
and she wants to go back to you and the dogs.’ If you 
say that, he’ll let me come home fast enough. You 
might write by the next post, and father, he’d jump on 
the jaunting-car and drive into Ballyshannon, and send 
you a wire. If papa wires to you, Mrs. Freeman, the 
very moment he gets your letter, I may perhaps be 
home on Sunday.” 

Bridget’s changeful face was now all glowing with ex- 
citement, eagerness, and hope. Her defiant attitude had 
vanished. As she looked full at Mrs. Freeman, her 
governess noticed for the first time that her eyelids 
were red, as if she had been crying. That, and a cer- 
tain pathos in her voice, made the head mistress regard 
her in a new light. 

“My dear,” she said, “I cannot grant your request. 
You have been sent to me by your father. He wishes 
you to stay here as long as you are well in body. You 
are quite well, Bridget ; you must therefore make up 
your mind, whether you like school or whether you 
hate it, to remain here until the end of the term.” 

“Very well, if it must be so, but I shall be very mis- 
erable, and misery soon makes me ill.” 

“You were not miserable yesterday.” 

“No, not very. The younger girls were fond of me, 
and Dorothy Collingwood was nice.” 

“And isn’t she nice to-day?” 

'‘No one is nice to-day. There’s the most ridiculous, 
unfair fuss being made about nothing. There isn’t a 
single girl in the school who hasn’t turned against me, 


6o 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


because of the accident last night to that stupid, plain 
Miss Percival. If I’d hurt her, or if she were ill, and in 
the least pain. I’d be as sorry as the rest of them ; but 
she’s not in the slightest pain ; she’s quite well. I 
can’t understand all this fuss.” 

“Can’t you, Bridget? I’m afraid I must make you 
understand that the fact of Evelyn being uninjured 
does not alter your conduct.” 

“My conduct? What have I done?” 

“You have disobeyed me. One of my strictest rules 
forbids the girls to leave the grounds without permis- 
sion. You not only left the grounds contrary to my 
express order, but you took several of the little children 
of the school with you. It is against my orders to 
have the trees destroyed by breaking off branches. 
Knowing this, you willfully disobeyed me again, and 
you and your companions rushed down the road 
shouting wildly. What was the result? Evelyn Per- 
cival mercifully escaped serious injury, but my carriage 
was broken and my horse damaged. The mere money 
loss you have occasioned me, Bridget ” 

“Oh, papa’ll pay that ! Don’t you fret about that, 
Mrs. Freeman; the dear old dad will settle it. He 
quite loves writing checks !” 

“But your father cannot pay for your disobedience 
— for the bad example you have set the little children, 
for the pain and anxiety you have given me.” 

“Pain and anxiety! I like that! You are just 
angry with me — that’s about all !” 

“I am sorry for you also, my dear. I earnestly desire 
that )7ou should be a good girl, for the girl is the mother 
of the woman, and a good girl makes that admirable 
and priceless treasure — a good woman by and by.” 


/ MUST BE SEVERE. 


6i 


Bridget moved restlessly. She looked out of the 
window. The sun was shining brilliantly, and the grass 
under the big shady trees looked particularly inviting. 

“I suppose I may go,” she said, “if that’s all you 
have got to say?” 

“I have some more things to say. I must get you, 
Bridget, before you leave this room, to make a promise.” 

“What is that?” 

“That you will obey me.” 

“I don’t know how I can, Mrs. Freeman. I said at 
once, when I came to school and saw what kind of 
place it was, that I wouldn’t obey the rules. They were 
so tiresome and silly; I didn’t see the use of them.” 

“Bridget, you are incorrigible. If kindness won’t 
make you see that you are bound in honor to obey me, 
I must try punishment. Wretched child, I don’t wish 
to be hard to you, but do what I say, you must ! ” 

Bridget’s face turned very white. She looked wildly 
toward the door, then at the window. 

Mrs. Freeman went up to her, and took her hand. 

“My dear,” she said, “I must make you feel my 
authority. I do this with great pain, for I know you 
have not had the advantage of the training which 
many of the girls who live here have received. I 
would treat you with kindness, Bridget, but you won’t 
receive my kindness. Now I must be severe, but for 
your good. Until you promise to obey the rules of 
the school, you must not join your schoolfellows either 
at work or play. My sister Patience will allow you to 
sit with her in her sitting room, and your meals will be 
brought to you there. The length of your punish- 
ment rests with yourself, my dear.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

CAPTIVITY. 


There are times in life when all one’s preconceived 
ideas are completely upset and altered. We looked at 
the world from a certain point of view. From that 
special angle of our own it showed in gold and rose 
color and blue. A day came when we were forced to 
change our vantage ground, and on that day we for the 
first time perceived the grays and the blacks of that 
same old world — it ceased to smile on us, it ceased to 
pet us — it ceased to say to us, ‘T was made to render 
your life beautiful, I was made to minister to every 
selfish desire of yours; I am your slave, you are my 
mistress; do with me what you will.” 

On this particular day the world ceases to speak in 
those gentle and submissive tones. With all its grays 
and its blacks turned full in view, it says: “You are 
only an atom ; there are millions of other human be- 
ings to share my good things as well as my evil. After 
all, I am not your slave, but your mistress; I have 
made laws, and you have got to obey them. Up to 
the present I have treated you as a baby, but now I 
am going to show you what life really means.” 

It was in some such fashion that the world spoke to 
Bridget O’Hara on this special summer’s morning. 

Mrs. Freeman took her unwilling hand, led her into 
Miss Patience’s dull little sitting room, which only 

62 


BRIDGET FOUND HERSELF ALONE. 63 

looked out upon the back yard, and, shutting the door 
behind her, left her to her own meditations. 

“You remain here, Bridget,” she repeated, “until 
you have promised to obey the rules of the school. No 
longer and no shorter will be your term of punishment. 
It remains altogether with yourself how soon you are 
liberated.” 

The door was closed then, and Bridget O’Hara 
found herself alone. 

The summer sounds came in to her, for the window 
of her dull room was open, the birds were twittering in 
the trees, innumerable doves were cooing; there was 
the gentle, soft whisper of the breeze, the cackling of 
motherly hens, the lowing of cows, and, far away be- 
yond and over them, the insistent, ceaseless whisper of 
the gentle waves on the shore. 

Bridget stood by the window, but she heard none of 
these soothing sounds. Her spoilt, childish heart was 
in the most open state of rebellion and revolt. 

She was in every sense of the word an untamed 
creature ; she was like a wild bird who had just been 
caught and put into a cage. 

By and by doubtless the poor bird would be taught 
to develop his notes into something richer and rarer 
than nature had made them, but the process would be 
painful. Bridget was like the bird, and she was beating 
her poor little wings now against her cage. 

Her first impulse was to open the door of her prison 
and go boldly out. 

She had not passed a pleasant morning, however, and 
this plan scarcely commended itself to her. 

For some reason her companions, both old and young 
in the school, had taken upon themselves to cut her. 


64 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


In all her life Bridget had never been cut before. 

At the dear old wild Castle in Ireland she had been 
idolized by everyone, the servants had done her bidding, 
however extravagant and fanciful that bidding had been. 
She led her old father where she wished with silken 
reins. The dogs, the horses, even the cows and the 
calves, followed Bridget like so many faithfuT shadows. 
In short, this wild little girl was the beloved queen of 
the. Castle. To cut her, or show her the smallest in- 
civility, would have been nothing short of high treason. 

This morning Bridget had been practically “sent to 
Coventry.” Even Dorothy was cold in her manner to 
her. The small children who had hung upon her words 
and followed her with delight the evening before, were 
now too frightened at the consequences of their own 
daring to come near her. Janet, Ruth, and Olive had 
shown their disapproval by marked avoidance and 
covert sneers. Bridget had done a very naughty act, 
and the school thought it well to show its displeasure. 

There was little use, therefore, in rushing out of her 
prison to join her companions in their playground or 
on the shore. 

Should she run away altogether? Should she walk to 
Eastcliff and take the next train to London, and then, 
trusting to chance, and to the kindness of strangers, en- 
deavor to find her way back to the dear and loving 
shores of the old country, and so back again to the 
beloved home? 

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of this 
plan ; but, in the first place, she had no idea how to 
manage it, and, what was a far more serious obstacle, 
her little sealskin purse, her father’s last present, was 
empty. 


Ajv excellent woman. 65 

Bridget could certainly not return honie without 
money. 

She sat down presently on the nearest chair and cov- 
ered her face with her hands. She could only resolve 
on one thing — she would certainly not yield to Mrs. 
Freeman’s request — nothing would induce her to 
promise to obey the rules of the school. 

A story book, belonging to the school library, hap- 
pened to be lying on a chair close to her own. She 
took it up, opened it, and began to read. The tale 
was sufficiently interesting to cause her to forget her 
troubles. 

She had read for nearly an hour when the door of 
the room opened, and Miss Patience came in. Miss 
Patience was an excellent woman, but she took severe 
views of life; she emphatically believed in the young 
being trained ; she thought well of punishments, and 
pined for the good old days when children were taught 
to make way for their elders, and not — as in the present 
degenerate times — to expect their elders to make way 
for them. Miss Patience just nodded toward Bridget, 
and, sitting beside a high desk, took out an account 
book and opened it. Miss O’Hara felt more uncom- 
fortable than ever when Miss Patience came into the 
room ; her book ceased to entertain her, and the walls 
of her prison seemed to get narrower. She fidgeted on 
her chair, and jumped up several times to look out of 
the window. There was nothing of the least interest, 
however, going on in the yard at that moment. Pres- 
ently she beat an impatient tattoo on the glass with 
her fingers. 

“Don’t do that, Bridget,’’ said Miss Patience; “you 
are disturbing me.’’ 


66 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Bridget dropped back into her seat with a profound 
sigh. Presently the dinner gong sounded, and Miss 
Patience put away her papers and accounts, and shut- 
ting ip her desk, prepared to leave the room. Bridget 
got up too. “I am glad that is dinner,” she said; ‘‘I’m 
awfully hungry. May I go up to my room to tidy my- 
self, Miss Patience?’* 

“No, Bridget, you are to stay here; your dinner will 
be brought to you.” Bridget flushed crimson. 

“I won’t eat any dinner in this horrid room,” she 
said; “I think I have been treated shamefully. If my 
dinner is sent to me I won’t eat it.” 

‘‘You can please yourself about that,” said Miss 
Patience, in her calmest voice. She left the room, 
closing the door behind her. 

Bridget felt a wild desire to rush after Miss Patience, 
and defying all punishment and all commands, appear 
as usual in the dining room. 

Something, however, she could not tell what, re- 
strained her from doing this. She sank back again in 
her chair; angry tears rose to her bright eyes, and 
burning spots appeared in her round cheeks. 

The door was opened, and a neatly dressed servant 
of the name of Marshall entered, bearing a dinner 
tray. 

She was a tall, slight girl, fairly good-looking, and 
not too strong-minded. 

‘‘Here, Miss O’Hara,” she said good-naturedly, 
‘‘here’s a lovely slice of lamb; and I saved some peas 
for you. Them young ladies always do make a rush 
on the peas, but I secured some in time. I’ll bring you 
some cherry tart presently, miss, and some whipped 
cream. You eat a good dinner, miss, and forget your 


HUMBLE AS I AM. 67 

troubles; oh, dear! 1 don’t like to see young ladies in 
punishment — and that I don’t !” 

While Marshall was speaking she looked down at 
the pretty and rebellious young prisoner with marked 
interest. 

“I’d make it up if I was you, miss,’’ she said. 

Marshall, with all her silliness, was a shrewd observer 
of character. Had the girl in disgrace been Janet May 
or Dorothy Collingwood, she would have known far 
better than to presume to address her; but Bridget was 
on very familiar terms with her old nurse and with 
many of the other servants at home, and it seemed 
quite reasonable to her that Marshall should speak 
sympathetic words. 

“I can’t eat, Marshall,’’ she said. “I’m treated 
shamefully, and the very nicest dinner wouldn’t tempt 
me. You can take it away, for I can’t possibly touch a 
morsel. Oh, dear! oh, dear! how I do wish I were at 
home again ! What a horrid, horrid sort of place 
school is!’’ 

“Poor young lady!’’ said Marshall. “Anyone can 
see. Miss O’Hara, as you aint accustomed to mean 
ways; you has your spirit, and I doubt me if anyone 
can break it. You aint the sort for school — ef I may 
make bold to say as much, you aint never been brought 
under. That’s the first thing they does at school; 
under you must go, whether you likes it or not. Oh, 
dear, there’s that bell, and it’s for me — I must fly, miss 
— but I do, humble as I am, sympathize with you most 
sincere. You try and eat a bit of dinner, miss, do 
now — and I’ll see if I can’t get some asparagus for you 
by and by, and, at any rate, you shall have the tart and 
the whipped cream.’’ 


68 


BASfIFUl PIFTEE^. 


“I can’t eat anything, Marshall,” said Bridget, shak- 
ing her head. “You are kind ; I see by your face that 
you are very kind. When I’m let out of this horrid 
prison I’ll give you some blue ribbon that I have up- 
stairs, and a string of Venetian beads. I dare say 
you’re fond of finery.” 

“Oh, lor, miss, you’re too good, but there’s that bell 
again ; I must run this minute.” 

Marshall departed, and Bridget lifted the cover from 
her plate and looked at the nice hot lamb and green 
peas. 

Notwithstanding her vehement words, some decided 
pangs of hunger seized her as she saw the tempting 
food. She remembered, however, that in the old nov- 
els heroines in distress had never any appetite, and she 
resolved to die rather than touch food while she was 
treated in so disgraceful a manner. 

She leant back, therefore, in her chair and reflected 
with a sad sort of pleasure on the sorrow which 
her father would feel when he learnt that she had 
almost died of hunger and exhaustion at this cruel 
school. 

“He’ll be sorry he sent me; he’ll be sorry he listened 
to Aunt Kathleen,” she said to herself. 

A flash of self-pity filled her eyes, but there was 
some consolation in reflecting on the fact that no one 
could force her to eat against her will. 

Marshall reappeared with the asparagus and cherry 
tart. 

She gave Bridget a great deal of sympathy, adjured 
her to eat, shook her head over her, and having gained 
a promise that a pair of long suede gloves should be 
added to the ribbons and Venetian beads, went away, 


T//^T OBSTINATE. 69 

having quite made up her mind to take Bridget’s part 
through thick and thin. 

“It’s most mournful to see her, poor dear !’’ she mut- 
tered. “She’s fat and strong and hearty, but I know by 
the shape of her mouth that she’s that obstinate she 
won’t touch any food, and she won’t give in to obey 
Mrs. Freeman, not if it’s ever so. I do pity her, poor 
dear, and it aint only for the sake of the things she gives 
me. Now let me see, aint there anyone I can speak to 
about her? Oh, there’s Miss Dorothy Collingwood, she 
aint quite so ’aughty as the other young ladies ; I think 
I will try her, and see ef she couldn’t bring the poor 
dear to see reason.’’ 

The girls were leaving the dining room while these 
thoughts were flashing through Marshall’s mind. 
Dorothy and Janet May were walking side by side. 

“Miss Collingwood,’’ said Marshall, in a timid whis- 
per, “might I say a word to you, miss?’’ 

“Yes, Marshall,’’ said Dorothy; she stopped. Janet 
stopped also, and gave Marshall a freezing glance. 

“We haven’t a moment to lose, Dorothy,’’ she said, 
“I want to speak to you alone before the rest of the 
committee arrive. That point with regard to Evelyn 
Percival must be settled. Perhaps your communica- 
tion can keep, Marshall.’’ 

“No, miss, that it can’t,’’ said Marshall, 'who felt as 
she expressed it afterward, “that royled by Miss May’s 
’aughty ways.’’ “I won’t keep Miss Collingwood any 
time, miss, ef you’ll be pleased to walk on.” 

Janet was forced to comply, and Dorothy exclaimed ^ 
eagerly : 

“Now, Marshall, what is it? How fussy and impor- 

tant you look!” 


70 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“Oh, miss, it’s that poor dear young lady.” 

“What poor dear young lady?” 

“Miss Bridget O’Hara. She aint understood, and 
she’s in punishment, pore dear; shut up in Miss Pa- 
tience’s dull parlor. Mrs. Freeman don’t understand 
her. She aint the sort to be broke in, and if Mrs. Free- 
man thinks she’ll do it, she’s fine and mistook. The 
pore dear is that spirited she’d die afore she’d own her- 
self wrong. Do you think, Miss Collingwood, as she’d 
touch a morsel of her dinner? No, that she wouldn’t! 
Bite nor sup wouldn’t pass her lips, although I tempted 
her with a lamb chop and them beautiful marrow peas, 
and asparagus and whipped cream and cherry tart. 
You can judge for yourself, miss, that a healthy young 
lady with a good, fine appetite must be bad when she 
refuses food of that sort !” 

“Fm very sorry, Marshall,” said Dorothy, “but Miss 
O’Hara has really been very naughty. You have heard, 
of course, of the carriage accident, and how nearly Miss 
Percival was hurt. It’s kind of you to plead for Miss 
O’Hara, but she really does deserve rather severe pun- 
ishment, and Mrs. Freeman is most kind, as well as 
just. I don’t really see how I can interfere.” 

“Are you coming, Dorothy?” called Janet May 
from the end of the passage. 

“Yes, in one minute, Janet! I don’t know what I’m 
to do, Marshall,” continued Dorothy. “I should not 
venture to speak to Mrs. Freeman on the subject; she 
would be very, very angry.” 

“I don’t mean that, miss; I mean that perhaps you’d 
talk to Miss Bridget, and persuade her to do whatever 
Mrs. Freeman says is right. I don’t know what that is, 
of course, but you has a very kind way, Miss Dorothy, 


I/O IV CAM I GUESS. 


71 


and ef you would speak to Miss O’Hara, maybe she.’d 
listen to you.” 

“Well, Marshall, I’ll see what I can do. I must join 
Miss May now, for we have something important to 
decide, but I won’t forget your words.” 

Marshall had to be comforted with this rather dubi- 
ous speech, and Dorothy ran on to join Janet. 

“Well,” said Janet, “what did that impertinent ser- 
vant want? I hope you showed her her place, Doro- 
thy? The idea of her presuming to stop us when we 
were so busy !” 

“She’s not at all impertinent,” said Dorothy. 
“After all, Janet, servants are flesh and blood, like the 
rest of us, and this poor Marshall, although she’s not 
the wisest of the wise, is a good-natured creature. 
What do you think she wanted?” 

“How can I possibly guess?” 

“She was interceding for Bridget,” said Dorothy. 

“Bridget O’Hara!” exclaimed Janet, “that incor- 
rigible, unpleasant girl? Why did you waste your 
time listening to her?” 

“I could not help myself,” replied Dorothy. “You 
know, of course, Janet, what Bridget did last night?” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” replied Janet, with a sneer; “she 
did something which shook the nerves of our beloved 
favorite. Had anyone else given Miss Percival her 
little fright, I could have forgiven her!” 

“Janet, I wish you would not speak in that bitter 
way.” 

“I can’t help it, my dear; I’m honest, whatever I am.” 

“But why will you dislike our dear Evelyn?” 

“We won’t discuss the whys nor the wherefores; th^ 
fact remains that I do dislike hen” 


72 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“And you also dislike poor Bridget? I can’t imagine 
why you take such strong prejudices.” 

“As to disliking Miss O’Hara, it’s more a case of 
despising; she’s beneath my dislike.” 

“Well, she’s in trouble now,” said Dorothy, with a 
sigh. “I think you are very much mistaken in her, 
Janet; she’s a very original, clever, amusing girl. I 
find her tiresome at times, and I admit that she’s dread- 
fully naughty, but it’s the sort of naughtiness which 
comes from simply not knowing. The accident last 
night might have been a dreadful one, and Bridget cer- 
tainly deserves the punishment she has got ; all the 
samcs'T’m very sorry for her.” 

“I can’t share your sorrow,” replied Janet. “If her 
punishment, whatever it is, deprives us of her charming 
society for a few days, it will be a boon to the entire 
school. I noticed that she was absent from dinner, 
and I will own I have not had a pleasanter meal for 
some time.” 

“Well, Marshall is unhappy about her,” replied 
Dorothy. “She said that Bridget would not touch her 
dinner. I don’t exactly know what Mrs. Freeman 
means to do about her, but the poor girl is a prisoner in 
Miss Patience’s dull little sitting room for the present.” 

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Long may she stay there! 
Now, do let us drop this tiresome subject. We have 
only ten minutes to ourselves before the rest of the 
committee arrive, and that point with regard to Evelyn 
Percival must be arranged. Come, Dorothy, let us 
race each other to the Lookout !” 


CHAPTER VII. 

WHO IS TO PROVIDE THE NEEDFUL? 

Fast as they ran, however, the two girls were not 
the first at the place of rendezvous. Olive and Ruth, 
and another girl of the name of Frances Murray, were 
all waiting for them when they arrived. 

These three girls, with Janet and Dorothy, were the 
members of the committee who were managing all the 
affairs of the Fancy Fair. 

The subject now to be brought under discussion was 
whether Evelyn Percival, the head girl of the school, 
should be asked to join the committee. 

Janet was very much opposed to the idea; the 
other girls, for more reasons than one, were in favor 
of it. 

Evelyn was popular; she had a very clear head, she 
had a good many original, as well as sensible ideas; 
last, but not least, she was rich. If Evelyn took up the 
idea of the Fancy Fair with enthusiasm, the scheme 
would certainly succeed, for she would spare neither 
time nor money on the cause. She would, however, 
also, in the natural sequence of things, become immedi- 
ately the guiding spirit of the scheme. 

Janet was head at present ; Janet first thought of the 
Fancy Fair. A little boy in the neighborhood had lost 
his father and mother; the father had been drowned 
at sea, the mother had died of the shock — the baby- 


73 


u 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


boy of a year old had been left without either friends 
or providers. 

When out walking one day, Janet and one of her 
companions met the child, who was a beautiful boy, 
with picturesque hair and one of those fair, sweet faces 
which appeal straight to the hearts of all women. A 
little barefoot and slip-shod girl was carrying the child. 
Janet and her companion stopped to speak to him ; his 
sad story was told by his eager little nurse. The girls 
were full of sympathy; even Janet May’s languid inter- 
est was aroused. She was poor, but she took half a 
crown out of her purse and gave it to the beautiful 
baby; her companion immediately followed suit. 
Janet and her friend talked of the boy all the way 
home, and that evening the Fancy Fair was first 
mooted as a means of raising a substantial sum of 
money for little Tim’s benefit. 

Mrs. Freeman was only too pleased to see the rather 
cold-hearted Janet May roused to take an interest in 
another. She gave her sanction to the girls’ ideas, and 
the Fancy Fair was now the principal object of conver- 
sation in the school. The girls liked to think they 
were working for little Tim, and Janet secured more 
affectionate 'glances and more pleasant words than she 
had ever received before in the school. She enjoyed 
herself greatly. Ambition was her strongest point, and 
that side of her character was being abundantly grati- 
fied. She was looked up to, consulted, praised ; she 
was the head of the committee. Janet liked to be first ; 
she was first now, with a vengeance. No fear of any- 
one else even trying to claim this envied position. 
Janet was clever; she had a good head for business; 
she was first: the glory of the scheme was hers; the 


MOST UmVELCOME. 


75 


praise, if it succeeded, would be hers. It was all de- 
lightful, and nothing came to dim her ardor until the 
news reached her that Evelyn Percival had recovered 
and was returning to the school. 

This news was most unwelcome to Janet. Every- 
body loved Evelyn; she was the head girl. If she 
joined the committee she would be expected to take 
the lead; Janet would be no longer first. If such a 
catastrophe occurred, Janet felt that the Fancy Fair 
would immediately lose all interest in her eyes. Her 
object of objects now was, whether by foul means or 
fair, to keep Evelyn Percival from being asked to join 
the committee. 

She knew that her task would be a delicate one, as it 
would be impossible for her to give the real reasons for 
her strong objection to Evelyn being on the committee. 

“Well, girls, here you are!” sang out Frances Mur- 
ray, as the two, panting and breathless, ran up the 
winding stairs of the little tower. “We thought you 
weren’t coming; but three make a quorum, and we 
were about to transact the business ourselves; weren’t 
we, Ruth?” 

“Yes,” said Ruth, in her prim, somewhat matter-of- 
fact voice; “but,” she added, glancing at Janet, “we 
are only too delighted that you have come, Janey, for 
what really important step can be taken with regard to 
the fair without your advice?” 

“Of course,” echoed Olive; “it is dear old Janey’s 
idea from first to last. Sit here, Janet, love ; won’t 
you, next me? It is very hot up here, but there’s nice 
shade under my big umbrella.” 

Janet took very little notice of her satellites Ruth 
and Olive. They were useful to her, of course, but in 


76 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


her heart of hearts she rather despised them* She vvas 
by no means sure of their being faithful to her in case 
anything occurred to make it more for their own inter- 
est to go over to the other side. 

“Sit down, sit down, and let us begin!’’ said Fran- 
ces, who was a very downright, honest sort of girl. 
“What I want to do is to get to business. The fair 
is only three weeks off. We have committed ourselves 
to it, and we have really made very little way. The 
idea of the fair is, of course, Janet’s, and she’s the head 
for the present ; but when Evelyn joins us, we’ll have a 
lot of fresh force put into everything. Mrs. Freeman 
says that Evelyn is better, and that she will be down to 
supper this evening, and I vote that we tell her about 
the fair then, and ask her at once to come on the com- 
mittee. What do you say, Dolly?” 

‘T agree, of course,” said Dorothy. “Evelyn is de- 
lightful ; and she has such a lot of tact and sense that 
having her with us will insure the success of the fair.” 

“Well, that is our principal business to-day,” contin- 
ued Frances. “We can soon put it to the vote, and 
then each member of the committee can join her own 
working party, and get things as forward as possible. 
For my part, I can’t get the girls to do much needle- 
work this hot weather. I have done everything in my 
power to incite them; little Tim’s destitute condition 
has been aired before their eyes so often that it begins 
to lose its effect. The girls who are well off say they 
will buy things, or write to their several homes for 
them, and the girls who are badly off simply loll about 
and do nothing.” 

“You have not sufficient influence, Frances,” said 
Janet, some angry spots coming into her cool, pale 


ALL VERY WELL. 


77 


cheeks. "Now, my girls work extraordinarily well. 
Annie and Violet, and Rosy and Mamie, are painting 
some beautiful fans ; they will be really artistic, and will 
fetch a good price. All that is wanted is to get a girl 
to take up the work she is really interested in. She’ll 
do it fast enough then. You can’t expect anyone to 
care to hem stupid pinafores, and to make babies’ 
frocks this weather.’’ 

Frances colored; she had no love for Janet, whose 
ideas on every point were opposed to her own. 

"It’s all very well to sneer at my pinafores and 
babies’ frocks,’’ she exclaimed ; "but when people go to 
bazaars they like to buy useful articles. Your ideas 
are all very well, but you carry your art mania too far; 
however, when Evelyn is with us she’ll make every- 
thing smooth. How glad I am that she has come back 
in time! Now then, who’ll vote to have her asked to 
join the committee?’’ 

"I will, of course,’’ said Dorothy Collingwood. 
Janet was silent; she walked across the little platform 
at the top of the Lookout, and leant over the low par- 
apet. Ruth and Olive were also silent ; they cast anx- 
ious and undecided glances at their friend’s back. 
They knew by her attitude that she was waiting for 
them to speak. In her heart Ruth adored Evelyn, but 
she was more or less in Janet’s power, who had helped 
her many times with her more difficult lessons. Olive 
also felt that up to the present it would be her best 
policy to side with Janet. 

“Well, Ruth, you, of course, wish us to ask Evelyn 
to join," said Frances, fixing her bright eyes on the 
girl. 

"I — I don’t know," said Ruth, in a hesitating voice. 


7S 


BASHFUL FIFTEEH. 


“It might rather upset arrangements now,” faltered 
Olive. 

“Yes, I agree,” said Janet, flashing round; “I agree 
with Ruth and Olive.” 

“Ruth doesn’t know her own mind, so you can’t 
agree with her,” interrupted Frances. 

“Yes, Ruth does know her own mind,” said Janet: 
“she’s a little bit timid, I grant, but she knows it well 
enough. You don’t want Evelyn to be asked to join 
us, do you, Ruthy?” 

‘ ‘ No,” said Ruth, with sudden boldness, “no, I don’t.” 

“Well, then, the votes are against you, Frances,” said 
Janet ; “so the matter is settled ; three against two. I 
suppose we needn’t waste any more time now ; we can 
all go away and set to work.” 

“No; wait a minute,” said Dorothy. “The decision 
you have come to, Janet — of course, Olive and Ruth 
always go with you ; you know that, so they scarcely 
count — the decision you have come to seems to us most 
extraordinary. You offer a direct slight to Evelyn 
Percival ; you leave her out in the cold. I do not see 
that there is anything for it, but for Frances and me to 
send in our resignations, if Evelyn is not to join us.” 

“I have very good reasons for what I am doing,” said 
Janet. “When I stayed with my aunt, Mrs. Greville, 
last summer, she had a Fancy Fair very much on the 
lines on which I propose to conduct ours. At the last 
moment a lady of influence in the neighborhood was 
asked to join. She was very nice and very important, 
just as Evelyn is very nice and very important, and the 
people said just what you say now, that they could not 
possibly do without her, and that it would be a great 
slight not to have her. Well, she was asked at the 


IT is A MISTAKE. 




eleventh hour to come on the committee, and from that 
moment everyone else's arrangements were turned 
topsy-turvy, and the fair was an absolute failure. Had 
Evelyn been here at the beginning, we could not have 
helped asking her to join, but I know that it’s a mistake 
now. I don’t think I’m unreasonable in saying this.” 

Janet had great control of her emotions, and her 
words, now uttered very calmly and quietly, had a 
certain effect upon Frances Murray. 

“There’s something in what you say,” she remarked 
after a pause. “Of course, Evelyn might be told that 
matters are too advanced now for her to take any active 
part, but there is another matter, Janet, which you have 
overlooked. It is this : There is not a single rich per- 
son on our committee. I am as poor as a church 
mouse, and am not ashamed to own it. I don’t sup- 
pose you are overburdened with pelf, and I know that 
Dolly and Ruth and Olive are not oppressed with the 
weight of their purses. Now, Evelyn is rich. If Evelyn 
took an interest in this bazaar, she would think nothing 
of spending five or six pounds in buying all sorts of 
pretty things; she would send to London and have 
some big packets sent down full of those sorts of little 
fresh tempting souvenirs which people always take a 
fancy to at bazaars and always buy.” 

While Frances was speaking, Janet turned rather 
pale. She had foreseen this great difficulty, and was 
much puzzled to know how to get over it. 

“The fact is,” said Dolly, “there are only two really 
rich girls in the school. Evelyn is one, and that poor 
wild little Biddy is the other.” 

“Is Bridget O’Hara rich?” asked Janet suddenly. 

“Rich? I should think so. Mrs. Freeman told mQ 


8o 


SHFUr. FIFTEFy. 


one day that the poor child is an heiress, and will have 
more money than she knows what to do with.” 

“Why do you talk of an heiress as ‘a poor child,’ 
Dorothy?” said Janet. “That kind of speech sounds 
so affected and out of date.” 

“Well, you needn’t be cross to me,” said Dorothy. 
“I do pity Bridget very much; she will have a lot of 
responsibility by and by, and up to the present she 
certainly has no wise ideas with regard to her future.” 

“Poor dear,” said Janet, with a little sneer, “her 
position is truly afflicting.” 

“Well, well, do let us return to business,” said Fran- 
ces. “Is Evelyn to be asked to join or not. We all 
know that Janet doesn’t love her; we can’t make out 
why, but we are not going to trouble ourselves on that 
score. I repeat that it is a slight to Evelyn not to ask 
her to join, but that fact may be glossed over by mak- 
ing a great deal of the fact that she was not here at the 
beginning. We might support you, Janet, in this, in 
order that you might retain your dearly coveted posi- 
tion as head of the fair.” 

“I don’t care a bit about that,” said Janet, coloring 
high. * 

“Now, my dear; now, my dear, don’t let that grace- 
ful little tongue lend itself to a wicked story. How- 
ever, to return to business. If we exclude Evelyn from 
taking an active part in the arrangements of the fair, 
who is to provide the needful? Now, Janet May, 
there’s a puzzler for you ; answer it if you can.” 

Janet walked over to the little parapet, and, leaning 
against it, looked out over the dazzling, dancing sum- 
mer sea. She was silent for a full moment, then she 
turned slowly and looked at her companions. 


8i 


A SORE PUZZLE. 

“I own that the money is a sore puzzle,” she said. 
“It goes without saying that we must have money. 
Give me twenty-four hours, girls, to think what is best 
to be done. If, at the end of that time, I have thought 
of no expedient, I will own rnyself defeated, and will 
withdraw my opposition to Evelyn Percival being 
asked to join.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE ‘‘JANET MAY STALL.” 

The several girls of the committee separated, and 
went to join the different parties who were working for 
the Fancy Fair. 

Almost every girl in the school had volunteered to 
do something, and on this long, lovely half-holiday 
they had decided to take their work out to different 
parts of the grounds, where they sat, some under the 
shelter of the wide-spreading beech trees, others in the 
summerhouses, or tents, which were scattered here 
and there in the grounds. 

Ruth, who had a certain gift for management, was 
helping three or four of the smaller girls to make some 
patchwork quilts, but Olive had decided to keep with 
Janet and help her as much as possible. 

Janet’s party had assembled in a large, roomy sum- 
merhouse. There was a rustic table in the middle, and 
rustic chairs and benches surrounded it. Here six girls, 
all of whom belonged to the lower school, were sitting 
round a table laughing and chatting merrily. Some 
bits of colored silk, some gay chintzes, a heap of wools 
for crewel work, several boxes of water-color paints, 
some pieces of cardboard, some fans, screens, and pretty 
baskets were scattered about. 

The girls were waiting for Janet and Ruth. They 
were not disposed to work. They lolled about and 


/ ADORE HER. 


83 


laughed, and looked somewhat wistfully at the lovely 
outer world, with the flickering shadows on the grass, 
and the dancing, happy sunshine making itself felt 
through everything. 

“Even a Fancy Fair is a bore,” said pretty little 
Violet to her crony Nora. 

“But then we are doing it for Tim,” said Alice, rais- 
ing her charming, sweet face, and blushing as she spoke. 

“Yes,” retorted Violet again; “I think of Tim all the 
time, and how nice it will be to collect money for the 
little darling, and how happy we’ll be in the long vaca- 
tion, when we remember how we saved the pet from 
going to the workhouse, but still I do want to bathe 
awfully to-day, and however hard I think of the good 
this Fancy Fair is going to do, I cannot help being 
lazy this hot weather.” 

“Did you know, girls,” exclaimed Nora, “that Bridget 
can swim and dive? She made a bet yesterday in the 
school that if we dropped sixpence into the sea she’d 
bring it up again in her mouth. She did really; she 
was most positive about it. Mary Hill and Cissy Jones 
bet against her that she wouldn’t, but she was so 
fierce, and said she had done it fifty times before in 
the lake at home. I do love Bridget, don’t you, 
Violet?” 

“Yes, I adore her,” said Violet, “she’s quite the jolli- 
est girl I ever came across. Fm awfully sorry she has 
got into trouble, and I hope Mrs. Freeman will soon 
forgive her. Poor dear, she doesn’t mean to do wrong, 
and she is such fun.” 

“She’s like a big baby,” said Alice; “but all the 
same, it is wrong of her to bet, isn’t it?” 

“ J don’t know,” replied Violet ; “the way Biddy does 


84 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


things makes them appear not a bit wrong. I should 
like awfully to see her bring up that sixpence in her 
mouth. But hush, let us pretend to be talking of 
something else, for here comes Janet and that nasty 
Olive.” 

“Janet is really very nice about this fair,” said Alice; 
“but she hates Biddy, and she has always hated darling 
Evelyn ; it is so funny !” 

“O Alice, do shut up,” exclaimed Violet. “Here's 
Janet coming in. Let’s pretend to be talking of some- 
thing else.” 

The little girls bent their heads together, pulled 
forward their different working materials, and 
looked busy and important when Janet and Olive 
came in. 

“Well, girls,” said Janet, “I hope you are making lots 
of progress. How about that fan, Alice? Oh, you 
naughty puss, you have not touched it yet to-day. 
Now set to work; do set to work. Violet, how is your 
mat getting on? Let me look at it, dear; very pretty 
indeed; don’t you think you could finish it to-day? 
Molly,” turning to the smallest girl in the summer- 
house, “you said you would paint some ribbon markers. 
Have you begun them yet? No, I see you haven’t. 
Sit down now, you lazy darling, and try to make good 
progress.” 

Janet’s tone was bright, and confident. It had imme-. 
diate effect upon , the children, stimulating their lisb 
lessness,. and :exeiting them to work with energy. • 

Janet herself sat near the entrance of the sum;mer. 
house. She had an easel in front of her, and ’was.p;aint- 
ing an exquisite little water-color from nature. , Janet 
had great talent, for a certain kind of. painting^-. There 


THREE CHEERS. 


8S 


was nothing bold nor masterful in her work, but her 
touch was true and delicate, and in a small way she 
could produce a very pretty effect. 

The younger girls thought Janet’s painting perfec- 
tion, and they stole up now, one by one, to look at her 
work and to give enthusiastic opinions with regard to it. 

Their little comments were delightful to her. She 
had a great thirst for praise, and could swallow it in 
any guise. 

While she worked, however, her thoughts were very 
busy ; she had to solve a difficult problem, and had 
only a few hours to do it in. 

After a long period of silence a remark dropped from 
her lips. 

“I have made up my mind,” she said, turning round 
and addressing all the children. 

“O Janey, what have you thought of now?” asked 
Alice, raising her pretty flushed face, and pushing aside 
her painting. 

“Take care of messing that fan, dear; you are paint- 
ing in that red poppy very nicely,” answered Janet. 
“Well, girls, I have made up my mind.” 

“Yes, Janey, yes; what about?” they all answered., 

“Our stall is to be far and away the most beautiful 
at the Fancy Fair.” 

“Three cheers!” exclaimed the children, but then 
Alice said in a wistful tone: 

“I don’t see how it can be, Janet, for we are none of 
us rich. I heard Dolly say this morning that Evelyn’s 
stall would certainly be far and away the best, for she 
was the only one of us who had money.” 

“Evelyn may not have a stall at all,” said Janet, 
“but, in any case, if you six little girls will back me, 


86 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


and if Olive — I can answer for Olive that she will do 
her best — if Olive will help also, our stall will be the 
richest and the most lovely at the fair. Will you trust 
me to manage this, children?” 

“Of course, Janet !” replied Nora, her eyes sparkling. 

“Now I tell you what,” said Janet, “I know pretty 
well what the other girls are doing. Frances Murray’s 
girls are going in for the sober and useful ; Dorothy 
Collingwood’s are working with a will on the same dull 
lines. Poor old Ruth — oh, I’m not disparaging her — 
can’t rise above her patchwork quilts, whereas we, we 
alone, have embraced ART. Girls, the combination of 
art and money will produce the most lovely stall at the 
fair. Now I have spoken ! You stick to me, girls, and 
keep your secret to yourselves. Say nothing, but de- 
termine, every one of you, to do her utmost, not only 
for little Tim, but for the glory of the ‘Janet May 
Stall.’ ” 

“We will, we will!” said the children. 

They were quite impressed by Janet’s enthusiasm, 
and looked upon their own humble little efforts in the 
great field of art with some awe. 

“It shall be done !” said Janet. “You have my word 
for it ; I can, I will manage it. I shall take immediate 
steps. Olive, will you look after the girls during the 
remainder of this afternoon? I must do something at 
once to secure our ends.” 

Janet walked quickly back to the house. She was so 
lost in thought that she never saw a girl who was run- 
ning full tilt against her. 

“A penny for your thoughts, Janey!” exclaimed 
Dorothy Collingwood. “I never saw your brow so 
knit with care, my love. What can be the matter? Is 


r//AT SIVEET IRISH MAID. 87 

the problem you have got to solve within twenty-four 
hours so intensely difficult?” 

“It is difficult, Dorothy,” replied Janet. “But, puz- 
zling as it is, I am not going to allow it to conquer me. 
By the way, that reminds me; have you just come 
from the prisoner?” 

“What prisoner?” 

“That sweet Irish maid, Bridget O’Hara.” 

“No, I haven’t, Janet; I have not forgotten her by 
any means. But I suppose I ought to ask Mrs. Free- 
man’s leave before I visit her.” 

“Well, can’t you ask it?” 

“I have been looking all over the place for her, but 
can’t find her anywhere. I am ever so sorry, for I 
should like to see Biddy, and I am sure I could exer- 
cise a little influence over her. However, there is noth- 
ing to be done until I get Mrs. Freeman’s permission, 
and, as I’m going up to Evelyn now, poor Biddy must 
ponder over her shortcomings for at least another hour.” 

“What a happy girl you are, Dorothy!” said Janet. 
“Just fancy spending all one’s time between the good 
and the naughty favorite of the school. Oh, what will 
not money effect!” 

“ I did not know before that poor Biddy was the fav- 
orite of the school,” said Dorothy. “I wish you would 
not speak in such a satirical way, Janet. What is the 
good of trying to throw scorn on Evelyn? People only 
dislike you when you speak like that, and I earnestly 
wish you wouldn’t.” 

“You are a good little soul, Dolly,” said Janet, “but 
I must speak as the spirit moves me. Now don’t let 
me keep you from your darling. There! I’ll try and 
tolerate her for your sake.” 


88 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Dorothy ran off, and Janet walked slowly past 
the front of the house, her brow knit in anxious 
thought. 

She had reached a little wicket gate, which led round 
to the back premises, when she was suddenly startled 
by finding herself face to face with Mrs. Freeman. 

For a moment a flood of color rushed to her cheeks. 
She felt inclined to pass her mistress with a brief salu- 
tation ; then another impulse arrested her steps. 

“Mrs. Freeman,” she said, “may I speak to you for 
a moment?” 

“Certainly, my dear! Can I do anything for you?” 

“I should like to ask a favor of you.” 

“Well, Janet, you don’t very often petition for my 
small mercies. You are a good girl, studious and atten- 
tive. Your masters and mistresses always give me 
pleasant reports of your progress. Now, what can I 
do for you?” 

“Fve been told that Bridget O’Hara is under punish- 
ment. I should very much like to see her.” 

This request of Janet’s evidently astonished Mrs. 
Freeman. She looked attentively at her pupil, then 
said in a voice of surprise : 

“I did not even know that you were friends.” 

“Nor are we. I think without any doubt we are at 
the antipodes in everything. But — I am sorry for a 
girl who is under punishment. I thought perhaps I 
might say something to her about — submitting. She 
might take it better from one of her schoolfellows than 
from a mistress. This occurred to me, but perhaps I 
am only taking a liberty.” 

“By no means, Janet. I frankly say I am pleased 
and surprised at your thoughtfulness. I confess to 


YOU NEVER LIKED ME. 89 

you, my dear, that Bridget is a very difficult girl to 
manage.” 

“I am sure of that !” 

“Very, very difficult. The care of her weighs heav- 
ily on me. I sympathize with her in some things. 
She is full of good impulses, but her character — well, it 
has not been trained at all. Are you likely to be able 
to influence her, Janet?” 

“I could but do my best!” 

Mrs. Freeman paused to consider. 

“Had Dorothy made this petition,” she said then, 
“I should have granted it, as a matter of course. Dor- 
othy has always tried to be nice to Bridget, and it 
would have been like her to do a kindness now. 
Dorothy, however, has come to me with no such re- 
quest, and you have, Janet. I am pleased with your 
thoughtfulness. I shall certainly not refuse you. Go 
to her, dear, and say what is in your heart. You have 
my best wishes !” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Freeman,” said Janet, in hef 
low, pretty voice. She tripped away, and a moment 
later was knocking at Miss Patience’s sitting-room 
door. 

“Come in, whoever you are !” said a sulky voice 
from the interior of the room. 

Janet opened the door, shut it carefully behind her, 
and advanced to the table, on the edge of which Bridget 
had perched herself as if she were on horseback. 

“Well, what do you want now that you have come?” 
asked Miss O’Hara, in her proudest voice. “You never 
liked me, so I suppose you are awfully pleased to see 
me like this?” 

"Now do hush,” said Janet. “I have not come in an 


90 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


unkind spirit. You must really listen, Bridget, to what 
I have come to say. I am the very first of your school- 
fellows to visit you, and would I trouble to come if I 
did not mean it kindly?” 

Janet’s voice was the essence of gentle calm. It 
affected poor tempest-tossed Biddy, who jumped down 
from her imaginary horse, and leant up against the 
window-sill, a strikingly handsome, but defiant looking 
young sinner. 

“I suppose you do mean it kindly,” she said, “and 
you are the first of the girls to look me up. But you 
are sure Mrs. Freeman did not send you?” 

“She knows that I have come, but she certainly did 
not send me.” 

“Well, I suppose it’s good-natured of you. I thought 
Dolly Collingwood would have come to me before now, 
but it’s ‘out of sight, out of mind’ with her as with the 
rest of them.” 

“Dorothy, at the present moment, is with Evelyn 
Percival.” 

“The girl who was thrown out of the carriage last 
night — the queen of the school? I may be thankful 
she was not badly hurt, poor dear.” 

Janet did not say anything. Bridget turned to the 
window, and began to beat a tattoo on the pane with 
her knuckles. 

“Look here,” she said again, after a pause, “now 
that you are here, what do you want? It’s good- 
natured of you to come, of course, but I can’t make 
out what good you are likely to do.” 

“Yes. I shall do plenty of good,” said Janet, in her 
assured tones. “I am going to give you some advice 
which you will be very glad to take.”* 


/ AM A ANXIOUS ABOUT YOU. 91 

“Indeed, then, you are finely mistaken. I’ll be 
nothing of the kind.” 

“You’ve not heard what I’m going to say, yet. 
Won’t you sit down and let us be comfortable?’’ 

“You can sit if you fancy it. I prefer standing.’’ 

“Very well; we shall both be pleased. This is a 
very comfortable chair.’’ 

Janet sank back in it, and raised her placid face to 
Bridget’s. The two girls were in all particulars con- 
trasts. Biddy’s curls were now a mop ; a wild, aggres- 
sive, almost disreputable looking mop. Her white 
dress was draggled and crumpled, her cheeks were 
deeply flushed, her eyes flashed ominous fire, her proud 
lips took many haughty and defiant curves. Janet, in 
contradistinction to all this, was the soul of neat com- 
monplace. Her pale blue cambric frock fitted her neat 
figure like a glove. She had white linen cuffs at her 
wrists; her little hands were exquisitely clean ; her fair 
face looked the essence of peace. Her neat, smooth 
head of light hair shone like satin. 

“I am anxious about you,’’ said Janet. “I can see 
quite plainly that you are going all wrong.’’ 

Bridget gave a sort of snort. 

Janet held up her small hand imploringly. 

“Do listen,’’ she said. “How can I explain myself 
if you interrupt me each moment?’’ 

“But you never liked me, Janey. You have shown 
that all too plainly. I cannot imagine what you are 
prying into my affairs for. Now if Dolly came ’’ 

“Dolly has not come, and I have. Now, will you 
listen. I will frankly say that I did not care about you 
when you first came to the school. When I saw you 
so — so defiant, Bridget, so proud, so free, so absolutely 


92 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


fearless ; when I saw you with all these characteristics, 
taking people by storm, for you know you did take the 
little girls of the school quite by storm, I felt a sense 
of strong irritation against you. I never met a girl like 
you before; you puzzled me; you did not please me. 
Now, I am going to be quite frank; I do not really like 
you much better now, but as I see that you fully intend 
to be on my side, it is impossible for me any longer not 
to take your part.” 

“I fully intend to be on your side?” repeated 
Bridget. “Indeed, then, I don’t, and I may as well 
say so frankly at once.” 

“Yes, Bridget, you do; you can’t help yourself, for 
you and I will in future have good cause to hate the 
same girl.” 

“What girl?’ 

“Evelyn Percival; the one you have just spoken of 
as the queen of the school.” 

“The darling!” exclaimed Bridget, “and why in the 
name of goodness am I to hate her?” 

“Well, you must be a poor-spirited thing if you don’t. 
May I ask if you would have got into your present 
scrape but for her? Have you not before this dis- 
obeyed Mrs. Freeman? Up to last night she took pity 
on you ; she said to herself: ‘Bridget knows nothing 
of the rules of the school ; Bridget has never been 
accustomed to obey any rules, I will be merciful to 
her, I will be lenient, I will never forget that Biddy 
has been queen in her Irish home.’ ” 

“Oh, don’t talk to me about my home,” said 
Bridget, her lips quivering, her eyes filling with tears. 

“Yes; but is it not true, Bridget? Has not Mrs. 
Freeman been very lenient to you in the past?” 


WHAT DO YOU MEANf 


93 


“I suppose she has. I never thought much about 
it. I scraped along somehow ; I was happy enough.” 

“Well, was she lenient to you to-day?” 

“Need you ask, Janet? I’m a prisoner; a close pris- 
oner in this abominable room. Such treatment will 
soon kill me. I can’t eat ; I shall soon die of misery.” 

“It is hard on you, Bridget; you are exactly like a 
wild bird of the woods put into a cage.” 

“Yes, that’s it; and the captive bird will break its 
heart.”. 

“Poor Bridget! I didn’t like you in your free days, 
but I’m willing to own that I pity you now.” 

“Thank you, thank you ; but I hate pity. Whoever 
would think of offering pity to Bridget O’Hara at 
home?” 

“But Bridget O’Hara is no longer at home; she is a 
captive in a strange land. Don’t cry, Biddy. Let us 
leave sentimentalities now, and come to facts. Whom 
do you think you owe this severe treatment to?” 

“I am sure I can’t tell you.” 

“I can tell you, however. You owe it entirely — 
entirely to Evelyn Percival.” 

“Now what do you mean? that nice girl whom I 
nearly killed?” 

“You didn’t nearly kill her ; that’s all stuff ! Bridget, 
you don’t know Evelyn Percival, but I do. Had any 
other girl been in the carriage when you and the chil- 
dren startled the horses, you would have been forgiven. 
Mrs. Freeman would still have remembered that you 
were unaccustomed to rules, and she would have tried 
to break you in gently and considerately ; but as Eve- 
lyn happened to be the person whose delicate nerves 
sustained a shock, Mrs. Freeman was incapable of 


94 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


showing any mercy. Evelyn Percival poses in the 
school as a sort of saint. Nearly everyone bows down 
to her; Mrs. Freeman, head mistress though she is, is 
so influenced by her that you are sure to have a bad 
time in future.” 

“I shan’t stand it; it isn’t likely.” 

‘'You will be forced to stand it. If Evelyn gives the 
smallest suggestion about you, it will be certain to be 
followed out. I pity you, Bridget, but you are cer- 
tainly likely to have a lively time.” 

“You don’t mean to tell me,” answered Bridget, 
“that I have to thank Miss Percival for this pumsh- 
ment; that it is at her instigation I am here?” 

‘‘You are certainly here at no one else’s instiga- 
tion.” 

‘‘Did she tell Mrs. Freeman to make a close prisoner 
of me, and to starve me?” 

“It is your own fault if you are starved, Bridget; 
don’t exaggerate, my dear; you do no good by that. 
As to your being made a prisoner, you certainly owe it 
to Evelyn. She can say things, even though she does 
not put them into words.” 

‘‘Oh, I understand,” said Bridget. She turned again 
to look out of the window, and her impatient fingers 
once more played a tattoo on the glass. 

“Evelyn is most popular,” continued Janet, ‘‘for the 
simple reason that people don’t read her through and 
through. I can see beneath that sweet, saintly calm, 
and I honestly say that I cannot bear her. Now, 
Bridget, if you will come on my side, if you will join 
me in opposing the pernicious influence that girl exer- 
cises, I can help you out of this scrape without allow- 
ing you to humiliate yourself, and I can at the samq 


/ WILL BE YOUR FRIEND. 95 

time put you up to having the nicest little revenge in 
the world on this delightful Miss Percival.” 

“But Dorothy believes in her, and Dorothy is so 
sweet and kind,” exclaimed Bridget, in perplexity. 

“Poor, dear Dolly,” exclaimed Janet, “anyone can 
take her in; but you, my dear, although you are not 
very learned, are clever. However, this is your own 
concern. If you like to stay in this hot room until 
Mrs. F'reeman breaks in your proud spirit, and if you 
like to submit to the many indignities which I can 
plainly see are before you, that, of course, is your affair. 
I thought it only kind to warn you, but perhaps I have 
interfered unwarrantably. If so, forgive me.” 

Janet rose as she spoke, and took a step or two 
toward the door. 

“No, don’t go,” exclaimed Biddy. “You puzzle me 
very much ; there’s no one in the world who hates mean 
ways more than I do, and if Evelyn is that sort ” 

“She is that sort, Bridget.” 

“Well, well!” Bridget turned again to the window. 

“What am I to do, Janet?” she said, after a pause. 
Her tone was quite humble; there was a crushed ex- 
pression in her face. 

“Poor old thing!” said Janet, in her light, silvery 
voice. She went up to Bridget, and gave her a care- 
less kiss on her cheek. She could afford to do this, 
for she knew the victory was hers. 

“In the future I will be your friend,” she said; “you 
may rely upon me. We are going to choose fresh 
chums in a week’s time. Suppose we choose one an- 
other. I know we are not a bit alike, but that’s just 
the very thing ; opposites should keep together. How- 
ever, there’s time enough to settle that presently.” 


96 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“Yes, quite time enough,'’ said Bridget. “I thought 
that I’d take Dolly for my chum.” 

“You can’t get her, my dear; she’s bespoken to 
Evelyn long ago.” 

“That horrid Evelyn!” Bridget stamped her foot 
impatiently. 

“Ah, I see, Biddy, that you and I will get on capi- 
tally. I could kiss you again, but kissing isn’t my way. 
Now then to business. The first thing is to get you 
out of this room.” 

“How is that to be effected? Mrs. Freeman says 
that I am to stay here until I promise to obey the 
rules of the school. I can’t obey them, so I suppose 
I’m to stay here until I die.” 

“And why can’t you obey them, Bridget?” 

“Why can’t I obey the rules of the school? We 
are not likely to be chums if you talk to me in that 
fashion, Janet.” 

“Now, my dear, I must just reason with you a little. 
You say you can’t obey the rules of the school ; you say 
so because you fail to understand them. If you put 
yourself under my guidance, and I am quite willing to 
take charge of you, I will show you that you can obey 
them sufficiently to keep yourself out of all serious 
scrapes, and yet at the same time you will enjoy as 
much liberty as any girl need desire. Do you think 
I am unhappy on account of the rules of the school?” 

“No; but you haven’t got a wild heart like me.” 

“Poor Biddy, I’ll take care of your wild heart. It 
was ill-natured of me not to see after you before, but 
in the future, my dear, you are quite safe. I am going 
to fetch Mrs. Freeman now.” 

“What in the world for?” 


tri/A T FOR f 


97 


‘‘To tell her that you will obey the rules, that you 
will cease to be an unruly member of the community, 
that you are going to be my chum.’’ 

“O Janet, but it’s dreadful to promise and not to 
perform. I have been awfully naughty, I know, over 
and over and over again, but I have never stooped to 
breaking a promise.” 

“You shall not break this promise, for I won’t let 
you, but I can show you a way to keep the fetters from 
galling. Now I am going to fetch Mrs. Freeman. It’s 
worth your while to submit at once, Biddy, for I intend 
to take you for a row.” 

‘‘A row on the water!” Bridget’s eyes sparkled; she 
threw back her shoulders with a gesture of relief. 

“Yes,” repeated Janet, “a row on the water. The 
school boat is at our disposal this evening. Mademoi- 
selle is coming to take charge of us, but, as she is really 
nobody, we shall practically be as free as air. Stay 
where you are, Biddy, until I fetch Mrs. Freeman.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

TAKING SIDES. 


When Dorothy entered Evelyn’s bedroom she 
found her friend up and dressed. 

“I’m quite well, really, Dolly,” said Evelyn, with a 
smile. “I stayed in bed until I could endure it no 
longer. I can’t tell you how vexed I am that I fainted 
last night, and gave Mrs. Freeman a fright. There was 
nothing really to make anyone else faint, for that brave 
girl saved me from being hurt in the most wonderful 
manner. By the way, how is she? I should like to see 
her and to thank her.”* 

“Poor Eva,” said Dorothy, coming up and kissing 
her friend, “you are just the most forgiving creature in 
existence. Anyone else would be awfully angry with 
Bridget. Her conduct very nearly cost you your life !” 

“There is a wide difference between ‘very nearly’ and 
‘quite,’ ” said Evelyn, with a smile. “I escaped with a 
‘very nearly,’ and feel as w^ell as ever now, and rather 
ashamed of myself. There never was a girl who meant 
less harm than this Bridget. I can see her now running 
down the road, her face all smiles, her eyes dancing, 
her white teeth showing ; I can see the little ones sur- 
rounding her. They waved boughs of trees, and they 
shouted and sang as they came. For one moment I 
said to myself, ‘O Jubilate! here is a welcome worth 
having!’ but then Caspar took fright, the carriage 

98 


SHE IS A CARE! 


99 


swayed horribly, the cushions jumped up as if they were 
going to strike me, and I remembered nothing more 
until I awoke with my head on this girl’s lap, and Mrs. 
Freeman bending over me. I should like to see the 
girl, to thank her. Where is she, Dolly? I am at- 
tracted by her face; it is a very lovely one!” 

“Well, sit down, now, by the window, and let us 
talk,” answered Dorothy. “I shall be jealous if you 
give all your thoughts to Bridget O’Hara. I know 
she’s a pretty girl, and I like her very much for some 
things. Buty oh dear, she is a care ! I don’t believe 
that any school had ever before such a madcap in it. 
But don’t let us waste all our time talking about her. 
You can’t help hearing her name spoken morning, noon, 
and night, when you come into the school.” 

Evelyn sank down in a low easy-chair by the open 
window. She wore a white cambric dress, and a pale 
blue belt round her slender waist. Her gentle eyes, 
also faint blue in their coloring, looked out over the 
summer scene. She was not beautiful, but there was a 
charm about her, a sense of repose, which made it de- 
lightful to be with her. The singular unselfishness of 
her nature was apparent in everything she did, said, 
and thought. 

“I’m^delighted to be back, Dolly,” she said. “This 
illness of mine has been such a bother, and it’s delicious 
to be well and able to go in for things again. Now, if 
I may not speak of Bridget, tell me about the other 
girls in the school. Tell me, also, what is the great 
object of interest at present?” 

“Oh, the Fancy Fair!” Dorothy colored as she 
spoke. “You need not bother your head about it, 
Evelyn,” she continued quickly. “Janet is at the head 


loo 


BASHFUL FiFTEEH. 


of it ; it was she who thought of the fair, and she’s the 
moving spring. You know what that means, don’t 
you, darling?” 

“I’m afraid I do,” replied Evelyn. “Does Janet 
May dislike me as much as ever?” 

“She certainly does; but don’t fret about her; she’s 
not worth it. Eva, you will most likely be asked to 
come on the committee, and to take a stall at the Fancy 
Fair. If you get the invitation, will you accept it?” 

“Of course I shall. Need you ask? Alack and alas! 
I have no chance of winning any prizes, so the fair will 
be a great diversion. I suppose it’s a charity concern ; 
who is it for?” 

“A little orphan boy in the neighborhood. Oh, 
you’ll learn all about him presently. We are working 
as hard as possible for the fair. If you come on the 
committee, Evelyn, you must let me help you with 
your stall.” 

“//' I come on the committee,” repeated Evelyn. “I 
suppose I am quite certain to be asked to join? Dolly, 
you look at me in rather a queer way !” 

''Do I? Don’t notice my looks. There is something 
worrying me, but nothing bad may come of it. It is so 
nice to talk to you again. Now I have something to 
say about that poor Biddy. At the present moment 
she is in disgrace.” 

“In disgrace? What about?” 

“I’m afraid it’s about you.” 

“Oh, but I must speak to Mrs. Freeman. She really 
meant nothing wrong, dear child.” 

“She broke the rules in leaving the grounds without 
leave. I think it is for her disobedience that Mrs. 
Freeman is punishing her. She has shut her up in 


/ WANT TO THANK HER. 


lOI 


Miss Patience’s room, and poor Biddy won’t eat, and is 
in a dreadful state of mind. Marshall spoke to me 
about her after dinner, and asked me to go to her; but 
we had a committee meeting just then, and afterward 
I could not find Mrs. Freeman.” 

“Have you left the poor girl by herself all this time, 
Dolly?” 

“I must own that I have. I will go and have a talk 
with her as soon as ever I leave you ; not that I can 
do much good, she’s such a queer kind of mixture of 
obstinacy and passion.” 

“But it does seem dreadful to leave her by herself all 
this time; just as if no one had a scrap of sympathy 
for her. Let us both go to her at once, Dolly. I want 
to thank her for being so brave.” 

“But Mrs. Freeman; we ought to ask her leave.” 

“Mrs. Freeman will be in her own sitting room at 
this time. Come along, Dolly, we have just a few min- 
utes to spare before the gong sounds for tea.” 

Dorothy made no further objections, and she and 
Eva went downstairs side by side. 

Thgy knocked at Mrs. Freeman’s sitting-room door. 
She was not in, but Miss Delicia was tidying books 
and papers on her davenport. 

“Is that you, Eva!” she exclaimed in delight. 
“ Why, you look as well and jolly as possible. How 
nice to have you back again !” • 

The little lady ran up to Evelyn, and kissed her 
affectionately. “Now, my darling, you are not going 
to tire yourself,” she said. “Come and sit here by the 
open window.” 

“I have been sitting still and lying down all day,” 
replied Evelyn, with a faint little grimace; “I am not 


102 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


really tired at all. Dolly and I came, Miss Delicia, to 
ask Mrs. Freeman to give us leave to go and see that 
poor girl, Bridget O’Hara. It seems she has got into 
a scrape on my account.” 

“And rightly, my dear; and very rightly. For my 
part, I don’t approve of punishments; I am all the 
other way; but such conduct as Bridget’s does deserve 
a sharp reprimand. Suppose you had been seriously 
hurt, Evelyn?” 

“But I was not hurt at all. I wish I could go and 
see Miss O’Hara now; I want to thank her for having 
saved my life. If she did give me a fright. Miss Deli- 
cia, she also kept me from the consequences of her 
own act. I wish I could thank her.” 

“Well, dear, do go to her; I’ll give you permission, 
and set things right with Mrs. Freeman. If you and 
Dolly can bring that wild child to hear reason we shall 
all be only too delighted. Run away, my dears, both 
of you, and do your best.” 

The girls left the room, and ran down the stone pas- 
sage which led to Miss Patience’s little sitting room at 
the other side of the big house. 

They were surprised, however, on reaching it, to find 
the door flung wide open and the room empty. 

Dorothy gave an exclamation of astonishment. 

“Bridget must have given in,” she said; “Mrs. Free- 
man must have come to her, and she must have 
yielded. Oh, what a relief! How glad I am! Come, 
Evelyn, let us go on the terrace, and walk up and 
down until tea is ready.” 

The broad terrace which ran in front of the house 
was completely sheltered from the sun at this hour. 
There was a pleasant breeze, and the girls, as they 


/ LIKE HER FACE. 


103 

paced arm i:> up and down the broad path, looked 
happy ?rid picturesque. 

Two girls who were coming up the grassy slope at 
this moment stopped at sight of them ; one uttered a 
slight exclamation of dismay, the other made an eager 
bound forward. 

“There’s Dolly!” exclaimed Bridget; “do let me 
run to her, Janet.” 

“Miss Percival is with her,” exclaimed Janet. “Do 
you really want to speak to Miss Percival, Bridget, 
after all you have suffered on her account?” 

“But she looks very nice.” 

“What a poor, weak kind of creature you are to be 
influenced by looks; besides, she is in reality very plain. 
Even her warmest admirers have never yet bestowed 
on her the palm of beauty.” 

“Oh, I like her face; it looks so good.” 

Janet paused in her walk to give her young compan- 
ion a glance of steady contempt. 

“Can I possibly go on with this scheme of mine?” 
she muttered to herself. “Bridget O’Hara is alto- 
gether too dreadful.” Had Janet yielded to her im- 
pulses at that moment she would have told Bridget to 
join her beloved Dorothy and Evelyn Percival, and 
have declared her intention of washing her hands of her 
on the spot. Had Janet acted so, this story need never 
have been written. But that strong ambition, that 
thirst for praise, which was her most marked character- 
istic came to her aid. Bridget was the only means 
within her power to achieve a most desirable end, and 
as such she must be tolerated. 

“Come down this walk with me,” she said,. in a low 
tone; “come quickly, before those girls see us. I want 


104 


BASFiFUL FIFTEEN. 


to say a word to you.” She took Biddy’s hand as she 
spoke and hurried her into a little sheltered path which 
led round to the back of the house. 

”Now, Bridget,” she said, “I must clearly understand 
how matters are going to be. Dorothy Collingwood 
cares nothing at all for you ; she is a most fickle girl. 
She took you up to a certain extent when first you 
came, but her conduct during your punishment proves 
how little she really cares for you. She and Evelyn 
will be all in all to each other, and if you go back to 
them, you will soon see for yourself that three is trum- 
pery; now, on the other hand, if you will be guided* by 
me, I will keep my promise to you. I am willing to 
become your chum, and if I am your chum, I will see 
you safely past all the rocks ahead. You know noth- 
ing whatever about school. There are two sorts of 
girls at every school ; there is the girl who is always 
in trouble, who doesn’t learn her lessons, who doesn’t 
obey the rules. Such a girl is a misery both to herself 
and her companions. There is also the girl who obeys 
the rules, and who learns her lessons. I represent the 
one sort of girl, you represent the other. I can teach 
you to become like me, without making things at all 
unpleasant to you, but you must choose at once; you 
must be on my side, or on Evelyn Percival’s side* 
Now which is it to be?” 

“Yours, of course,” said Bridget; “you are the only 
girl in the school who was kind to me to-day, so of 
<:ourse I’ll be on your side.” 

“Very well, that’s all right. You must copy me 
when you talk to Evelyn Percival. You must show 
Dorothy also that you resent her coldness. There’s 
the tea gong. Let us go in. Immediately after tea 


NOTHING LIKE MONEY. 1 05 

you will find time to write that letter to your father, 
won’t you, dear?” 

“Yes, of course. I know he’ll give me as much 
money as I want.” 

“Ask him for plenty; there’s nothing like money 
when all is said and done. Now come along to tea. 
I won’t be able to sit near you, Bridget, but I’ll have 
my eye on you, so don’t forget how I’ll expect you to 
behave.” 





CHAPTER X. 

CHECKMATE. 

There was great astonishment among the girls who 
met at the Lookout the next day when Janet pro- 
nounced in calm, decided tones that a new member was 
willing to join the committee, that the new member 
was the Irish girl, Bridget O’Hara, who would help her 
at her stall, and would give as much money to the 
cause as was necessary to insure its success. 

“Bridget O’Hara is not here,’’ said Janet, “but she 
has asked me to speak for her. She has written to her 
father to ask him to send her plenty of funds. She will 
be more or less of a cipher, of course, but having the 
wherewithal she will be a useful one. I propose, there- 
fore,’’ continued Janet May, “that our committee re- 
mains as it is with this one welcome addition, and that 
Evelyn Percival is not asked to join.’’ 

While Janet was speaking Dorothy’s rosy face 
turned very pale. “Now I understand,’’ she murmured ; 
“now I can account for poor Biddy’s change of manner. 
O Janet, why didn’t you leave her alone?’’ 

“What do you mean?’’ said Janet, flashing round 
angrily. “Bridget’s help is most desirable. She has 
money, and she won’t interfere with projects already 
formed. Had Miss Percival been asked to join, she 
would, of course, have given us plenty of money, but 
she would also have interfered. I may as well plainly 


vocr MUST VOTE FOR HER. 107 

say that I don’t choose to be interfered with at this 
juncture. That is plain English, I hope; you can 
make the worst of it, girls, all of you ! I prefer that 
poor nonentity of a Bridget to Miss Percival, and I 
have managed to have my way.” 

“I suppose we must vote for Biddy,” said Ruth and 
Olive. 

“Of course, you must vote for her,” retorted Janet. 

‘T do not object to her joining the committee,” said 
Frances; “but I think you have managed the whole 
thing in a very underhand way, Janet. You are fond 
of saying that you like frank opinions, so there is mine 
for you.” 

“All right!” said Janet; “I accept it for what it is 
worth. Now then, girls, this weighty matter is settled. 
Dorothy, you must say something nice to Evelyn. Of 
course, you have a reasonable excuse to give her. It 
would be ridiculous to ask her to join us at the 
eleventh hour. She is a sensible girl, and will ” 

At this moment, Olive, who was bending over the 
parapet, turned round, and said to her companions in 
a low, almost awestruck voice : 

“Mrs. Freeman is coming up the steps of the 
Lookout !” 

The next instant the smiling face of the head mis- 
tress appeared. 

“Well, my dears,” she said, “I won’t waste your 
valuable time a single moment longer than is neces- 
sary. I am very much pleased with all your zeal in 
getting up this little bazaar. I, on my part, will take 
every possible pains to see that your Fancy Fair is well 
attended. I have a suggestion, however, to make; it 
is this : Evelyn Percival ought to be asked to take a 


io8 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


prominent part in the management of the fair. She 
has come back in sufficient time for this; her health is 
quite restored, and it is due to her position in the 
school to pay her this respect. I dare say, my loves,” 
continued Mrs. Freeman, “that you have all thought of 
this already, and are even now preparing to ask her to 
join you. If so, you will find her in the summerhouse 
at the end of the East Walk with Kitty Thompson. 
Good-by, my dears! Forgive me if I have interfered 
unnecessarily.” 

Mrs. Freeman went away. The girls had no time to 
ask her a question. The head mistress was always 
quick and decisive in her movements. She was kind, 
even indulgent, but she was also firm. From Mrs. 
Freeman’s decision each girl in the school felt there 
was no appeal. 

As her retreating footsteps sounded on the winding 
stairs of the little tower, the girls who formed the 
committee for the Fancy Fair looked at one another. 
In Janet’s gaze there were open-eyed consternation and 
dismay. Olive and Ruth appeared what they were : 
the very essence of uncertainty and nervousness. 
Frances Murray could not restrain an expression of 
triumph appearing in her bright eyes, while Dolly 
looked both glad and sorry. 

“O Janet!” she said, “I wish I could take your side 
and my own. I wish I could obey dear Mrs. Free- 
man, and have our darling Evelyn to help us, and 
be one of us, and I also wish to do the thing that 
makes you happy.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Janet. “Of course, 
the thing is inevitable. Under existing circumstances, 
I give in. I have only one request to make, girls, and 


tV/T// A GOOD GRACE. 


109; 

that is, that you will not betray to Evelyn Percival',, 
who, of course, will take the lead now in the manage- 
ment of the Fancy Fair, the very frank objections I 
have made to having her with us. We must welcome 
her, of course, with a good grace, and I trust to you 
all to keep my little remarks to yourselves.” 

“Of course, of course, Janey,” they each eagerly 
replied. 

“As if we could be so mean as to tell,” remarked 
Ruth, going up to her friend and giving her hand a 
squeeze. 

Janet did not return the pressure of Ruth’s hand. 
She turned abruptly to Dorothy. 

“Evelyn is to be found in the summerhouse. Will 
you go and fetch her at once, Dolly?” 

Dorothy ran off without another word. While she 
was absent Janet kept her back to her friends. She 
generally carried a little sketchbook in her pocket ; she 
took it out now, and under the shelter of her parasol 
pretended to sketch the lovely summer landscape 
which surrounded her. 

The other girls who were watching saw, however, 
that her small, dainty fingers scarcely moved. 

When voices and steps were heard in the distance, 
Janet was the first to turn round, and when Evelyn 
appeared on the scene Janet went up and bade her 
welcome. 

“We have elected you to join our committee,” she 
said, in a low and careless voice. “As the head girl of 
the school, you will naturally take the lead in the mat- 
ter; but, as you have been obliged to be absent when 
our scheme was' first started, you would perhaps like 
me to tell you how far we have gone.” 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


1 10 

“I am delighted to join the committee,” replied 
Evelyn, “and particularly glad that you have asked me, 
Janet. You may be sure, girls, I’ll do all I can to help, 
but as the idea of the Fancy Fair was yours, Janet, I 
don’t think I ought to take the lead.” 

For a second a pleased expression flitted across 
Janet May’s cold, self-possessed face. It vanished, 
however, as quickly as it came. 

“No,” she said, “I cannot possibly take the lead. 
The head girl of the school has certain rights which no 
one must deprive her of. It is generous of you to offer 
me your place, Evelyn, but, even if I allowed myself to 
accept the position, Mrs. Freeman would instantly 
require me to vacate it in your favor. The thing is 
settled, then; you are formally invited by us all to join 
our committee; is that not so, girls?” 

“Yes, yes,” they all exclaimed, delight and relief 
plainly apparent on every face. 

“You are formally elected, therefore,” proceeded 
Janet. “Won’t you sit down, Evelyn? That is a 
comfortable seat in the shade over there. Won’t you 
take it? I can then tell you as briefly as possible what 
we have done.” 

Evelyn sat down in the comfortable seat without a 
word. Frances Murray sprang to her side, slipped her 
hand through her arm, and looked into her face with; 
adoration ; Ruth and Olive were only restrained by 
Janet’s presence from groveling at her feet. Dolly 
alone leant in a careless attitude against the low para- 
pet of the tower. Her affectionate glance traveled 
many times to her friend’s face, but she had too much 
tact and too good taste to show her preference too 
openly while Janet May was present. 


A PANCY FAIR. 


Hi 

“Up to the present,” said Janet, also leaning against 
the parapet, and exactly facing Evelyn, “up to the 
present I have managed the proposed bazaar. If it is 
generally wished, I can still remain treasurer. At the 
present moment, I am sorry to say, there is very little 
money to guard. If the thing is to be a success, more 
money must be spent, but that, of course, is for Evelyn 
to decide. We are having the bazaar, Evelyn, hoping 
to raise money to send little Tim Donovan to a good 
school. Mrs. Freeman said something about this 
bazaar being repeated, if necessary, in the future; but 
that, of course, we need not discuss at present. The 
bazaar is to be called a Fancy Fair. It will be held in 
a large tent in the four-acre field. This part of the 
entertainment Mrs. Freeman has herself promised to 
provide. Our present idea is to have four stalls. You 
will, of course, conduct the principal one ; I, if per- 
mitted, will take the second ; Dorothy or Frances Mur- 
ray will manage the third ; and there will also be a re- 
freshment stall, for which we have not at present pro- 
vided. Each girl of the committee has undertaken to 
secure a certain number of fancy materials for sale at 
the fair. Ruth, Olive, and I at the present time are 
doing well ; about six little girls of the lower school are 
helping us. We meet twice a week in the summer- 
house at the end of the South Walk to work for the 
bazaar, and the results will, I believe, be fairly credit- 
able. I cannot say what arrangements Frances is mak- 
ing, but she will doubtless tell you herself. Dorothy 
is also the soul of industry. You’ll probably recon- 
struct everything, and I shall be ready to come to you 
for advice whenever you ask me. There is, I think, 
only one thing more to say, and that is, that I have 


FIFTEKK. 


I 12 

persuaded the new girl, Bridget O’Hara, to join uS. 
She does not strictly belong either to the upper or the 
lower school at present. Her position in the house is, 
I think, somewhat unique. She is a very tall, grown- 
up-looking girl, but she is not yet quite fifteen years of 
age. Her mind very much resembles her body, being 
extremely grown-up in some ways, and absolutely child- 
ish in others. Her acquirements are also those of a 
child. I have thought it right, however, in your ab- 
sence, of course, Evelyn, to ask her to join us. She 
has a good deal of originality; she has also some 
money, which she is willing to devote to the cause. 
I think that is all. I am now going to join my work- 
ers in the summerhouse at the end of the South 
Walk. You, Ruth, and you, Olive, can come with 
me if you like, but if you prefer it, you are quite 
at liberty to join Evelyn’s stall, for now that I 
have got Bridget’s help I can do admirably with- 
out you.” 

Ruth and Olive looked more undecided than ever, 
but Evelyn said in a firm voice: “Of course, girls, you 
could not for a moment wish to desert Janet. I should 
like to say one thing before you go, Janet; it is this, 
that I am very much surprised at your pluck and brav- 
ery in getting up a bazaar of this sort. I am pleased 
to join it, and to do all I can to promote it. Under 
the circumstances, I should much prefer working as 
your aid-de-camp to taking the lead ; but you are 
quite right in saying that the head girl of the school 
has certain privileges which, whether she likes it or 
not, she cannot . forego. I must, of course, take the 
principal part at the bazaar, but I shall, in every way 
in my power, do what is most agreeable to you, and 


YOURS, NOT MINE. 


113 

will lose no opportunity to let my friends know that 
the idea is yours, not mine.” 

“You are very good-natured,” said Janet, “but I, too, 
have something to say. Under the circumstances, I 
prefer sinking into the background. After all, the only 
person to be seriously considered is little Tim Dono- 
van. If he is substantially helped I don’t suppose it 
matters much what anyone thinks of us.” 


•■y 





CHAPTER XL 

A WILD IRISH PRINCESS. 

The girls of the lower school were all busy with their 
preparation. Violet and Rose sat side by side. They 
had been chums for nearly a year now, and the fact 
was so fully recognized in the school that even their 
desks were placed close together. Violet was puzzling 
her little brains over a very difficult piece of French 
translation, Rose endeavoring to learn four or five long 
stanzas from Scott’s “Lady of the Lake.” They were 
both clever little girls, and, as a rule, their preparation 
was quickly over, and their tasks speedily conquered ; 
but to-night there was a holiday feeling in the air; a 
sense of idleness pervaded everyone. Lessons seemed 
cruel, and the children rebelled against their tasks. 
They looked at one another, laughed, yawned, struggled 
with the listlessness which seized them, shot envious 
glances at their more studious companions, and abso- 
lutely refused to overcome the difficulties of the 
French translation and the English poetry. 

; The doa.- between the lower schoolroom and the 
room occupied by the girls of the middle school had 
been thrown ^open, and from where the children sat 
they could se.-^the pretty flounce of a pale blue muslin 
dress, and the provoking and exasperating peep of a 
little, pointed, bipe Morocco shoe. The shoe evidently 
belonged to a resv-yss foot, for it often appeared beneath 


LITTLE IDLERS. 115 

the flounce, to vanish as quickly, and then to .poke 
itself into notice again. 

' ‘ It’s Biddy,” whispered Violet in a low tone to Rose. 
” I don’t believe she’s learning her lessons a bit better 
than we are.” 

“She never learns them at all,” answered Rose. 
“Janet does them for her now; don’t you know that, 
Violet?” 

“Hush!” said Violet, “we are disturbing Katie and 
Susy Martin, and they are such spiteful little cats, they 
are sure to tell on us. Hush! do hush. Rose! you 
ought not to say such things.” 

“I won’t say them if you don’t like,” whispered 
Rose back again; “but they are true all the same.” 

Violet bent over her French translation. Rose made 
another frantic struggle to conquer “The Lady of the 
Lake.” 

The other children in the room were working with 
considerable industry; the little idlers in the corner 
had to suppress their emotions as best they could. 

Rose had a very emphatic way ; she was a stronger 
character than Violet, and in consequence had her 
little friend more or less under her thumb. 

Violet had a great admiration for Biddy, and, as she 
was really an honorable and conscientious child, Rose’s 
words shocked her very much. 

The moments went by. The summer evening out- 
side looked more beautiful and inviting each moment. 
After preparation was over, there was a treat in store 
for the children. This was Bridget O’Hara’s birthday, 
and she was herself the giver of the treat. The chil- 
dren were to have a sort of supper-tea in the tent on 
the lawn, and afterward Biddy was going to give 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Ii6 

each of them a little present in memory of the 
day. 

The thought of Biddy’s present and Biddy’s treat 
had filled every little heart with a pleasant sense of 
excitement during the entire day ; but Violet felt now 
that if Rose’s words were really true she would not 
care to accept a keepsake from Bridget. 

As she sat before her desk, too lazy, too languid, and 
at the same time too excited, to pay the smallest heed 
to her lessons, she could not help wishing that she could 
see something more of the blue frock than just that part 
which covered the pretty foot. 

She slipped down lower and lower by her desk, and 
presently contrived to get a view of Bridget’s desk. 
She could not see her face, but she could catch a glance 
of a plump young hand ; it was quite still, it did not 
move, it did not turn a page. Violet could stand it no 
longer. In a moment of desperation she kicked off her 
slipper, and springing from her seat, bent low on the 
floor to pick it up. 

From there she could see the whole of Biddy’s 
figure. Oh, horror! her little heart went down to 
zero; Bridget O’Hara’s head rested against her plump 
hand ; she was fast asleep. 

The shrill yoice of mademoiselle was heard from her 
Qorner.ofthe ropni;: 

‘‘Reste tranquille^ mon enfant ; tu es bien ennuyeuse ; 
^st ce que tu ne sais pa& que c’est I’heure de silence?” 

Violet scrambled to, her feet, and sat down before 
her French translation with a crimson face. 

In the meanwhile a pale, quiet-looking girl had 
entered the room where the middle school were busy 
qyer their tasks, and, bending down by Bridget 


Lucky for you. ti 7 

O’Hara’s side, took up an exercise she had just fin- 
ished, and looked over it swiftly and eagerly* 

“That is right/’ she said; “you will get good marks 
for this. Now, what about your arithmetic?’’ 

“I have managed my sums fairly well, Janet; see,’’ 
pulling an exercise-book forward. “I suppose they are 
all right, but they look very funny.’’ 

“They must be all right, dear. Let me see! Yes, 
yes ; oh, what an incorrigibly stupid girl you are ! 
This sum in compound subtraction has got the answer 
which should be attached to the compound addition 
sum. Quick, Bridget, give me your pen; I will score 
through these two lines, and then you must add the 
figures underneath yourself. That is right. What 
have you done with my ’’ 

“Your copy, Janet? I was going to tear it up, as I 
had done with it.’’ 

“Don’t do that, give it to me; it will be safest. 
Now, try and look over your poetry, Bridget. I will 
wait for you outside.’’ 

“Oh, that is easy enough; I shan’t be any time. 
It’s the first page or two of that delightful ‘Ancient 
Mariner’ ; I can get it done in no time.’’ 

“Lucky for you. I will wait for you outside; I 
have something I want to say to you. Be quick, for 
all those small tots will be out immediately, and they’ll 
want to take up every moment of your time. Give me 
those notes, however, before I go.’’ 

Bridget pulled some crumpled bits of paper out 
of her pocket, and thrust them into Janet’s eager 
hand. 

Miss May left the room, and Biddy, wide awake 
now, devoted herself to her poetry. 


iiS 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


There was an eager, pleased, almost satisfied, ex- 
pression on her face. 

It was over a week now since Janet had taken her 
up. During that time she had, without in the least 
guessing the fact herself, been brought into a consider- 
able state of discipline. 

If she obeyed no one else in the school, Janet’s 
slightest nod was sufficient for her. 

It was Janet’s present aim, whether by foul means or 
fair, to make Biddy appear both good and fascinating. 

She did not want her captive to feel the end of her 
chain ; she was clever enough to make Biddy her com- 
plete slave without allowing the slave to be conscious 
of her slavery. 

The result of this week of very judicious slavery was, 
as far as externals went, highly beneficial. 

Biddy had a gorgeous taste in the matter of dress. 
She wore her splendid garments with truly barbarian 
recklessness, overdressing herself on one occasion, 
being untidy and almost slovenly on another. A few 
suggestions, however, from Janet, altered all this, and 
the most fastidious person could now see nothing to 
object to in the clothes which adorned her beautifully 
proportioned figure, and the hats under which that 
charming and lovely face looked out. 

To-night, Biddy’s pale blue muslin, made simply, 
but with a lavish disregard to expense in the matter of 
lace and ribbons, was all that was appropriate; her 
crisp chestnut curls surrounded her fair face like a halo. 
There was a queer mixture of the woman and the child 
about her; she was by many degrees the most striking- 
looking girl in the school. 

It took Biddy but a very few minutes to conquer the 


THE FEAST /S READY. 119 

difficulties of “The Ancient Mariner.” She had a 
great aptitude for committing poetry to memory, and 
after repeating the stanzas two or three times under 
her breath, she slipped the book inside her desk and 
ran out. 

To do this she had to go through the schoolroom 
where the little girls, Violet and Alice, were sitting 
mournfully in front of their unlearned lessons. 

“Oh, you poor tots!” she said, struck by the expres- 
sion on their wistful faces, “haven’t you done yet? 
The feast is almost ready. I’ve ordered clothes bask- 
ets of strawberries, my dears, and quarts and quarts of 
cream.” 

“Silence, mademoiselle!” screamed the French 
teacher. 

Bridget put her rosy fingers to her lips in mock 
solemnity, blew a kiss to all the children, and banged 
the door somewhat noisily behind her. 

Violet’s blue eyes sought Alice’s; there was a world 
of entreaty in their meaning. Alice began, with fever- 
ish, forced energy, to mutter to herself : 

“ A chieftain’s daughter seemed the maid.” • 

Violet continued to gaze at her; then, taking up a 
scrap of paper, she scribbled on it : 

“ I don't believe that Janet helps Biddy with her lessons.” 

This scrap of paper was thrust into Alice’s hand, 
who, in a moment, tossed a reply into Violet’s lap : 

“ Yes, she does. You ask Honora Stedman or Jessie Sparkes.” 

Violet tore the paper into a thousand bits. Tears, 
she could scarcely tell why, dimmed her pretty eyes. 
She sank back in her seat, and resumed her lessons. 




BASHFUL FIFTEEK^: 


“Maintenant, mes eilfatits* 1‘heUre de preparation est 
passee,’* said the French governess, rising, and speak- 
ing with her usual, quick little scream. “Mettez vos 
livres de cote ; allons-nous a la fete donn^e par la gra- 
cieuse Mile. Bridget O’Hara.” 

The children jumped up with alacrity. Chairs 
scraped against the floor; desks were opened and books 
deposited therein more quickly than quietly, and then 
the whole eager group went out. 

There was a large tent erected on the front lawn ; 
gay flags were posted here and there round it, and a 
rustic porch had been hastily contrived at the entrance. 
This was crowned with many smaller flags, and was 
further rendered gay with bunches of wild flowers and 
ferns which had been fastened to it, under Bridget’s 
supervision, early in the day. 

The brilliant effect of the many colored flags and 
banners, the peep within the tent of tempting tables 
and many charming presents, excited the wild spirits 
of the little ones to an almost alarming degree. 

Alice looked at Violet with a face full of ecstasy. 

''How I love Biddy O’Hara!” she exclaimed. 
“Think of her getting up such a lovely, exquisite treat 
for us! Would any other girl think only of others on 
her birthday? Oh, I love her; I do love her!” 

“But if she does really crib her lessons!” answered 
Violet, in a low tone of great sorrow. “O Alice, it 
can’t be true.” 

“It is true,” replied Alice; “but, for goodness’ sake, 
Violet, don’t fret yourself; it isn’t our affair if Biddy 
chooses to do wrong. Whether she does right or 
wrong, I shall still maintain that she’s a dear, generous 
darling. Do come on now, Violet, and let us enjoy 


/ AGREE WITH EVELYN. 


I2I 


ourselves.” Alice caught her little companion s hand 
as she spoke, and the two children ran down the rather 
steep grassy incline to the tent. 

Most of their companions had arrived before them, 
and when they entered under the flower-crowned porch, 
they found themselves in the midst of a very gay and 
attractive scene. Bridget, with two or three older girls 
of the school, was entertaining the children with strong 
sweet tea, piles of bread and butter, cakes of various 
sizes and shapes, and quantities of strawberries, which 
were further supplemented with jugs of rich cream. 

Violet and Alice seated themselves at once at one 
end of the long table, and the merry feast went on. 

What laughter there was at it, what childish jokes, 
what little harmless, affectionate, mirthful repartees! 
Bridget O’Hara’s face wore its sweetest expression. 
The Irish girl had never looked more in her element. 
Frances Murray and Dorothy, who were both helping 
her, had never seen Bridget look like this. She showed 
herself capable of two things: of giving others the most 
intense pleasure and enjoyment, and absolutely forget- 
ting herself. 

Dorothy had not felt kindly disposed to Bridget 
during the past week. Bridget’s conduct, Bridget’s 
extraordinary reserve, the marked way in which she 
resented small overtures of friendship from Evelyn Per- 
cival, hurt her feelings a great deal ; but to-night Dor- 
othy Collingwood felt her heart- going out to Biddy in 
a new, unexpected way. 

“I agree with Evelyn,” she said suddenly, turning 
round and speaking to Frances Murray. 

“About what, my dear?” retorted that young lady, 
^‘You generally do agree with Evelyn, you know.” 


122 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“Don’t tease me, Frances; of course we’re chums, 
but I hold, and always will hold, my own opinions. I 
agree with her now, however. I agree with her with 
regard to Bridget O’Hara.” 

“Biddy looks very sweet to-night,” replied Frances, 
“but surely Evelyn cannot care about her.” 

“Biddy has been very nasty to Evelyn,” answered 
Dolly. “Of course, I know who is really to blame for 
it. Still I thought Biddy would have more spirit than 
to be led in a matter of this sort. But do you think 
Evelyn resents this sort of thing? Not a bit of her. 
She is just as sweet and good about it all as she can 
be, and she said to me, what I am really inclined to 
believe, that if Biddy is only done justice to, there 
won’t be a nobler woman in the world than she.” 

“Oh, fudge!” said Frances; “I grant that she does 
look very sweet now, but it’s just like Evelyn to go to 
the fair with things, and it’s just like you, Dolly, to 
believe her. Come, come, the little ones cannot eat 
another strawberry, however hard they try, and Bridget 
is going up to the end. of the tent to distribute the 
presents.” 

“Let us see,” replied Dolly. 

The two girls went up to the far end of the tent, 
where a little table covered with a crimson cloth 
stood ; on this Bridget had placed her small gifts. 

They were all minute, but all dainty. They had 
arrived from Paris, a few nights ago, in a small box. 
Thimbles in charming little cases, dainty workboxes, 
writing cases, penholders, dolls, photograph frames, 
boxes oFcolors, etc., etc., lay in profusion on the 
pretty table. 

Biddy stood by her presents, a bright light in her 


OH, YES, BIDD Y. 


23 


eyes, a bright color on her cheeks. The two elder 
girls, who stood in the background, could not help a 
sudden pang as they Avatched her. There was some- 
thing about her mien and bearing which made them, 
for the first time, clearly understand that this girl was a 
wild Irish princess at home. For the first time they got 
an insight into Biddy’s somewhat complex character. 

“Come here, darlings,’’ she said to the children in 
her sweet, rather low-pitched voice. ‘T am glad to 
give you a little bit of pleasure. It is the best sort of 
thing that can happen to me, now that I’m away from 
father. Had you enough to eat, pets?’’ 

“Oh, yes, Biddy, oh, yes!’’ they all cried. 

“That’s right. I thought you Avould. We have lots 
of feasts of this sort at the Castle. The children aren’t 
like you, of course ; they live, half of them, down in the 
cabins near the water’s edge, and they come up with 
their little bare feet, and their curly heads that have 
never known hat nor bonnet, and their eyes as blue as a 
bit of the sky, or as black as the sloes in the hedges. 
Oh, they are pets every one of them, with their soft 
voices, and their little prim courtesies, and their ‘Thank 
you, kind lady,’ and their ‘Indeed, then, it’s thrue for ye, 
that I’m moighty honored by ateing in the sight of yer 
honor.’ Ah, I can hear them now, the pets! and don’t 
they like the presents afterward, and don’t they send 
up three cheers for father and me before they go away! 
They are all having a feast to-night at the Castle in 
honor of my birthday, and father is there, and all the 
dogs, but I’m away; I expect they’re a bit lonesome, 
poor dears, without Biddy, but never mind ! You have 
all been very good to let me give you a little feast, my 
dear darling pets.’’ 


124 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


There was a great pathos in Biddy’s words; the 
children felt more inclined to cry than to laugh ; Dolly 
felt a lump in her throat, and even Frances looked 
down on the ground for a second, but when there was 
a brief pause Frances raised her hand, and waved it 
slightly as a signal. 

This was enough, all the hands were raised, all the 
handkerchiefs waved, and from every throat there rose 
a “Hip! hip! hurrah!” and “Three cheers for the Irish 
princess!” 

“Many happy returns of the day,” said Frances, and 
then all the children repeated her words. 

“You must not add any more,” exclaimed Biddy. 
“I don’t wish to cry; I want to be happy, as I ought to 
be when you are all so nice and good to me. I may as 
well say frankly that I did not at all like school at first, 
but I do now. If you are all affectionate and loving, 
and if Janet goes on being kind to me, I shall like 
school, and I shan’t mind so much being broken in.” 

“Poor Biddy,” exclaimed Dorothy, turning to her 
companion ; “she reminds me of the lovely silver- 
winged horse Pegasus. She does not like the taming 
process.” 

“No, my dear, that’s true,” replied Frances; “but 
Pegasus grew very fond of Bellerophon in the end.” 

“Only I deny,” said Dolly, “that Janet is in the 
least like Bellerophon.” 

“Listen!” exclaimed Frances. 

“I am going to give you your presents now,” said 
Bridget. “Come here, each of you in turn.” 

The children pressed eagerly to the front, and Biddy 
put a small gift into each of their hands. 

“Now come for a walk with me,” she said. “I shall 


WHAT IS THE MATTER? 


125 


tell you a fairy story — a very short one ; it pleased the 
barefooted children at home, and I dare say it will 
please you. After that you must go to bed.” 

It was really late now. The sun had set, but there 
was an after-glow all over the sky, and the moon was 
showing her calm, full, round face above the horizon. 

Alice linked her hand inside Biddy’s arm, the other 
children surrounded her, and Violet felt herself pressed 
up to her other side. 

On another occasion Violet would have taken Bid- 
dy’s arm, and held it tight. She did not do so 
to-night ; she walked quietly by her side, holding a 
lovely jointed doll in her arms. 

Bridget told a wonderful fairy tale, but Violet’s eyes 
were fixed on her doll, and her thoughts were far away. 

The other children cheered and applauded, and ques- 
tioned and criticised, but Violet was absolutely silent. 

At last the gong in the great house sounded. This 
was the signal for all the little ones to go to bed. 
They each of them pressed up to kiss Bridget, and 
thank her for the lovely treat she had given them. 
Each one after she had kissed her friend ran into the 
house. 

At last Violet was the only child left. Even Alice 
ran off, but Violet stood in the middle of the gravel 
walk, clasping her doll in her arms. 

“What is the matter, Vi?” asked Bridget. “Don’t 
you like the doll? Would you rather I exchanged it 
for something else?” 

Alice had climbed the steep grassy slope. She stood 
on the summit, and shouted down into the gathering 
darkness : 

“Come, Violet, come at once, or you’ll be late!” 


126 


BA SHFUL FIF TEEN. 


“Kiss me, Violet, and run to bed,” said Bridget. 
“If you don’t like the doll. I’ll exchange it to-morrow.” 

“But I do like the doll,” said Violet. “I love it! 
It isn’t that, Biddy. May I ask you something?” 

“Of course you may, you little darling. How pale 
you look. What’s the matter, Vi?” 

“Is it true, Biddy, that . you crib your lessons? 
Alice says it’s true; but I don’t believe her.” 

Bridget had knelt down by Violet in her earnest 
desire to comfort her. She rose now to her feet, and 
stood erect and tall in the moonlight. After a very 
brief pause, she spoke in a haughty tone : 

“Alice says that I crib?” she repeated. “What do 
you English girls mean by ‘cribbing’?” 

“Alice says — oh, please don’t be angry, Biddy — she 
says that Janet helps you ; that Janet does — does some 
of your lessons for you, herself. I don’t believe it! I 
said it wasn’t true.” 

“You are a good little soul,” said Biddy. 

She took the child’s hand within her own. 

“What a plucky little thing you are, Vi. So you 
think it wrong to crib?” 

“I think it wrong to crib?” repeated Violet. “I 
think it wrong to crib? Why, of course; it is 7nost 
?/;2honorable.” 

Bridget colored. 

“That’s what you English think,” she said, in a 
would-be careless tone; “but when a girl doesn’t know, 
and when she’s quite certain to get into all sorts of 
scrapes — eh, Vi — you tell me what a girl of that sort 
has got to do?” 

“She must not crib,” said Violet, in a shaky and 
intensely earnest little voice; “it’s most awfully un- 


I DO CRIB. 


27 


honorable of her; a girl who cribs must feel so — so 
mean. If it was me, I’d rather have all the punish- 
ments in the school than feel as mean as that. But 
you don’t crib, Biddy, darling; you are so lovely, and 
you are so sweet ; I know — I know you don't crib." 

Bridget O’Hara had been tempted by Janet into a 
very dishonorable Course of action, but no spoken lie 
had ever yet passed her lips. 

When Violet looked up at her with the moonlight 
reflected on her little pale, childish, eager face, Biddy 
felt the hour for that first lie had arrived. She thought 
that she would do anything in the world rather than 
crush the love and the eager trust which shone out of 
Violet’s eyes. 

“Of course I don’t crib,’’ she was about to say; but 
suddenly, like a flash, she turned away. 

“ I’m sorry to destroy your faith in me, Vi,’’ she said, 
in a would-be careless tone; “but though I have done 
a very ‘unhonorable’ thing, as you call it, I really can’t 
tell a lie about it. I do crib, if cribbing means taking 
Janet’s help when I learn my lessons.’’ 

The faint roses which Violet wore in her cheeks 
faded out of them. 

“I’m awfully sorry for you,’’ she said. “I didn’t 
believe it a bit when Alice said it; I wouldn’t believe 
it now from anyone but yourself. There’s the doll 
back again, Biddy; I — I can’t keep it, Biddy.’’ 

She pushed the waxen beauty into Bridget’s arms, 
and rushed back to the house. 


CHAPTER XII. 

LADY KATHLEEN. 


For the past week, Janet May had managed, through 
her tact and cleverness, to make Bridget’s liffe quite 
comfortable to her. She had shown her a way in which 
she could obey the rules and yet not feel the fetters. 
She imparted to Bridget some of, that strange and fatal 
secret which leads to death in the long run, but which 
at first shows many attractions to its victims. Bridget 
might live at the school, and have a very jolly, and 
even independent time; all she had to do was to obey 
the letter and break the spirit. 

In point of acquirements, Biddy could scarcely hold 
a place even in the middle school. She had many tal- 
ents, but her education had never been properly at- 
tended to. During the last week, however, she had 
made rapid progress in her studies ; she had been moved 
up a whole class, and was steadily getting to the top of 
her present one. Her masters and mistresses praised 
her, and these words of approval proved themselves ex- 
tremely sweet, and spurred her on to make genuine 
efforts in those studies for which she had really a talent. 
Biddy’s English was perhaps her weakest point. Her 
spelling was atrocious; her writing resembled a series 
of hieroglyphics; her sums were faulty; her history 
was certainly fable, not fact. 

She could speak French perfectly; her marks, there- 


128 


WAITING FOR YOU. 


129 


fore, in this tongue were always good. Now her Eng- 
lish, too, began to assume quite a respectable appear- 
ance; her sums were invariably correct; her spelling 
irreproachable ; her various themes were well expressed, 
and her facts were incontestable. She was making her 
way rapidly through the middle school, and Mrs. Free- 
man said that she had every reason to hope that so 
clever a girl might take her place in the upper school 
by the beginning of the next term. 

As it was, Bridget was accorded a few of the privi- 
leges of the upper school. One of these privileges was 
very much prized ; she might spend her evenings, once 
preparation was over, exactly as she pleased. 

After Violet’s unexpected reproof she came slowly 
into the house. She had that uncertain temperament 
which is so essentially Irish ; her spirits could rise like 
a bird on the wing, or they could fall into the lowest 
depths of despondency. 

She had felt gay and joyful while her birthday treat 
was going on ; now as she entered the house she could 
scarcely drag one leaden step after the other. 

Janet was standing in the stone passage which led 
to the common room, when Biddy passed by. 

“I have been waiting for you,” she said, in a rather 
cross voice. “What an age you’ve been! Surely the 
treat need not have been followed by a whole wasted 
hour afterward?” 

“I was telling the children a story,” said Biddy; 
“the story was part of the treat.” 

Janet’s thin lips curled somewhat sarcastically. 

“Well, come now,” she said; “the committee have 
all assembled in the common room, and we’re only 
waiting for you to begin.” 


130 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“You must do without me to-iiight,” said Bridget; 
“I have got a headache, and I’m going to bed.” She 
turned abruptly away, utterly disregarding Janet’s 
raised brows of astonishment, and the faint little dis- 
agreeable laugh which followed her as she went upstairs. 

Bridget’s room adjoined the one occupied by Evel}^ 
Percival. As Bridget was entering her bedroom, 
Evelyn was coming out of hers. 

“Had you a nice treat?” she said, stopping for a mo- 
ment to speak to Bridget. “You never asked me to 
come and look on, and I should have enjoyed it so 
much.” 

“But youYe the head girl of the school; my treat 
was only for the little ones,” said Bridget, in a cold tone. 

“I love treats for little ones,” said Evelyn, “and I 
think it was so nice of you to think of it. Aren’t you 
coming down to the committee. Miss O’Hara? This 
is the evening when we arrange our different contribu- 
tions. You know, of course, that the bazaar is only a 
week off.” 

“I don’t care when it is held,” said Biddy; “there 
never was such a stupid fuss made about anything as 
that bazaar; I’m sick of the subject. No, Miss Perci- 
val, I’m not going to join the committee to-night.” 

“Well, good-night, then,” said Evelyn. 

She ran downstairs, and Biddy shut herself into her 
own room and locked the door. 

About an hour later the other girls went to bed. 
Biddy unlocked her door, and getting between the 
sheets just as she was, in her pretty blue muslin frock, 
waited until all the house was still. Miss Delicia 
usually visited the girls the last thing before going to 
bed. She came into Bridget’s room as usual, but 


NO ONE HEARD HER. 


131 

noticed nothing wrong. The top of a curly head was 
seen above the sheet. Miss Delicia stepped lightly on 
tiptoe out of the room, and a few moments later the 
large house, with its many inmates, was wrapped in 
profound silence. 

When this silence had lasted about a quarter of an 
hour, Biddy raised herself on her elbow, and listened 
intently; then she threw aside the bedclothes, and 
stepped lightly on to the floor. Her slippers were dis- 
carded, and her little stockinged feet made no sound as 
she walked across the boards. She managed to open 
her door without its making a single creak, and a few 
moments later, guided by the moon, she was standing 
in the deserted schoolroom, and was unlocking her 
school desk. From out of it she took three very neat 
looking exercise-books. From each of these books she 
tore a page. These three pages she deliberately re- 
duced to the minutest fragments; returned the books 
to her desk, locked it, and went back to bed. 

No one had heard her go or come. When she laid 
her head once more on her pillow a little sob escaped 
her lips. 

“You shan’t ever say Fm unhonorable again, Vio- 
let,” she muttered; some tears stole from under her 
thick, curly lashes. Two or three minutes afterward 
she had dropped into profound and peaceful slumber. 

The next day at lesson time Bridget O’Hara was in 
extreme disgrace. She had no exercises, either good 
or bad, to show; not the most careless or untidy notes 
had she with regard to her history lesson ; her geogra- 
phy had simply not been prepared at all. 

Biddy went to the bottom of her class, where she 
stayed for the remainder of the morning. 


132 


Bashful fifteefT. 


She was to learn her lessons during the hours of 
recreation, and was told by her indignant teachers that 
she might consider herself in great disgrace. 

She received this announcement with complacency, 
and sat with a contented, almost provoking, smile 
hovering round her lips. 

Morning school being over, the girls went out to 
play as usual : but Biddy sat in the schoolroom with 
her sums, history lesson, and geography all waiting to 
get accomplished. 

“You have been a good girl lately, Bridget; you 
have prepared your lessons carefully and cleverly,” said 
Miss Dent, the English teacher. “I am quite sure, 
therefore, that you will speedily retrieve the great care- 
lessness of this morning. I am willing to make all 
allowances for you, my dear, for we none of us forget 
that yesterday was your birthday. Now, just give 
your attention to these lessons, and you will have 
them nicely prepared by dinner time.” 

”I don’t believe I shall,” said Bridget, with a comi- 
cal expression. She bent over her books as she spoke, 
and Miss Dent, feeling puzzled, she did not know why, 
left the room. 

A moment later Janet came in. 

“What is the matter?” asked Janet. ‘‘I have just 
met Miss Dent, who tells me that you failed in your 
three English lessons this morning. How can that be? 
Your grammar and English history and geography were 
perfect last night. They had not a single mistake!” 

“You mean,” said Bridget, raising her eyes and look- 
ing full at. Janet, 'W\dX yo7ir grammar and geography 
and English history were perfect last night.” 

Janet shrugged her shoulders. 


THAT IS ALL. 


133 


“It’s all the same,’’ she said. “I told you that I’d 
help you with your lessons, and I shall keep my word. 
How is it that you have managed to get into disgrace, 
after all the trouble I have taken for you?’’ 

“You are never to take it again, Janet; that is all!” 

“Never to take it again! Dear me, what a very 
superior voice we can use when we like ! And has our 
‘first’ sweet little ‘gem of the ocean’ discovered that 
her own mighty genius can tide her over all school 
troubles?” 

“I’m not going to be afraid of you, Janet,” said 
Biddy. “Of course, you’ve been awfully kind to me, 
and I’m not ungrateful. But something — something 
happened \diSt night which made me see that I’ve been 
a mean, horrid, deceitful girl to let you help me at all, 
and you are not to do it again ; that’s all.” 

“What happened last night to open your virtuous 
eyes?” 

“I’m not going to say.” 

“Have any of the girls found out?” 

Janet turned decidedly pale as she asked this ques- 
tion. 

“I’m not going to say.” 

“You don’t mean to hint to me, Bridget, that you 
have told the teachers about what I have done?” 

“Of course I haven’t, Janet. But I’ll tell you wh^t 
I did do. I went down last night when all the other 
girls — you among them — were sleeping the sleep of the 
just, and I tore a sheet out of each of these books; the 
sheet which you had so carefully prepared for me last 
night. That’s why I had no English lessons, good, 
bad, or indifferent, to show this morning.” 

Janet stoo.d quite silent fora moment or two; her 


34 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


delicately formed fingers beat an impatient tattoo on 
the top of Biddy’s desk. 

“You can please yourself, of course,” she said^ after 
a pause. “You can wade through your lessons as best 
you can, and sink to your proper position, you great 
big baby, in the lower school. You have shown a 
partiality for the little children. You are likely to see 
enough of them in future, for you will belong to 
them.” 

“They are dear little creatures, much nicer than any 
of the big girls, except Dolly. I’d rather be with them 
and do right than stay in the middle school, or even 
the upper, and feel as I did last night.” 

“It is delightful to see what a tender conscience you 
have got ! I confess I did not know of its existence 
until to-day, but I congratulate you most heartily on 
such a priceless possession. It will be a great relief to 
me, not to have to worry any more about your lessons. 
For the future I wash my hands of you.” 

“Am I not to be your chum any more, then, 
Janet?” 

Bridget looked up, with decided relief on her face. 

Janet saw the look. Her brow darkened ; she had to 
make a great effort to suppress the strong dislike which 
filled her breast. Bridget, however, was rich; she 
might be useful. 

“Of course, we are chums still,” she said in a hasty 
voice. “It is your own fault if I don’t do as much for you 
as I promised. You are a great little goose to reject 
the help which I am giving you. Your father sent you 
to school in order that you might learn ; you can’t learn 
if you are not helped. However, it’s your own affair; 
but if you ever let out to mortal that I gave you 


I'M NOT A BIT AFRAID. 135 

this assistance your life won’t be worth living, that’s 
all.” 

“I’m not a bit afraid of your threats, Janet; but I 
won’t tell, of course.” 

“I say,” exclaimed Janet, suddenly rushing to the 
window., “what a nice carriage, and what fine horses! 
Who in the world can be coming to Mulberry Court 
now?” 

Bridget had again bent over her lessons. They were 
hopelessly difficult. It was on the tip of her tongue 
to say : 

“Janet, how am I to parse this sentence?” But she 
restrained herself. 

Janet had forgotten all about her. She was gazing 
at the beautiful carriage and spirited horses with eyes 
full of curiosity. 

The carriage, a smart little victoria, contained only 
one occupant. The horses were pawing the ground 
impatiently now ; the lady had disappeared into the 
house. 

“I say,” exclaimed Janet, turning to Bridget; but 
whatever further words she meant to utter were ar- 
rested on her lips. There was the swishing sound of 
voluminous draperies in the passage, a gay, quick voice 
could be distinguished pouring out eager utterances, 
and the next moment the room door was opened 
hastily, and a lady rushed in. 

She was immediately followed by Miss Patience, 
who seemed somewhat amazed. 

“Really, Lady Kathleen ” she began. 

“Now, my dear Miss Patience, don’t interrupt me. 
“I know what a good soul you are ; but if you think 
I’m going to sit in your drawing room waiting until that 


136 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


precious child is brought to me, you are finely mis- 
taken. Ah, and here you are, my treasure! Come 
into Aunt Kitty’s arms!” 

“Aunt Kathleen!” exclaimed Bridget. 

She rushed from her seat, upsetting a bottle of ink 
as she did so, and found herself clasped in a volu- 
minous embrace. 

“Now that’s good,” said Lady Kathleen. “I’ll write 
full particulars about you to Dennis to-night. And 
how are you, my pet? And how do you like school? 
Are they very cross? Oh, / know them! I was here 
long ago myself. Patience, do you remember how you 
used to insist upon punishing the girls, and dear old 
Delicia used to beg them off? I expect you are just 
the same as ever you were. Does Miss Patience give 
you many punishments, my ducky, and does Miss 
Delicia beg you off?” 

“I’ll leave you now, Lady Kathleen,” said Miss Pa- 
tience, still in her stiff voice. “If you really prefer stay- 
ing in this room to the comfortable drawing room, I 
cannot help it. Of course, you will remain to dinner? 
Mrs. Freeman will be delighted to see you again.” 

“Dear Mrs. Freeman! If there’s a woman in the 
world I respect, she’s the one. But stay a moment. 
Miss Patience ; I’ll come and see Mrs. Freerrfan another 
time. I want to take this dear child off with me now to 
Eastcliff for the day, and I’d be delighted if her young 
companion would come too. What’s your name, my 
love?” 

“May,” replied Janet. 

“May? What a nice little flowery sort of title. 
Well, I want you to come and spend the day with me. 
May.” 


RUM, MY LOVES. 


137 


“My name is Janet May.” 

“It’s all the same, I expect. Now, Miss Patience, 
may I take these two sweet children to Eastcliff? I’ll 
promise to have them back under your sheltering wings 
by nine o’clock this evening.” 

Miss Patience hesitated for a moment, but Lady 
Kathleen Peterham was not a person to be lightly 
offended. 

“It is very kind of you,” she said, “and also most 
natural that you should wish to have your niece with 
.you. But Janet ” 

“Oh, come, come,” said Lady Kathleen, with a hearty 
laugh, “I want to have them both, dear children. Run 
upstairs, now, both of you, and make yourselves as 
smart as smart can be. While the girls are getting 
ready, you and I can have a little talk. Patience. Run, 
my loves, run, make yourselves scarce.” 

Bridget and Janet both left the room. All the cross- 
ness had now disappeared from Janet’s face. She was 
in high good humor, and even condescended to link her 
hand inside Bridget’s arm as they mounted the stairs 
to their bedrooms. 

Janet had very quiet and very good taste in dress. 

She came downstairs presently in a dove-colored 
cashmere, a black lace hat on her head, and dove- 

colored gloves on her hands. A pretty black lace 

parasol completed her ladylike attire. There was 

nothing expensive about her simple toilet, but it was 

youthful, refined, and suitable. 

Biddy did not return so quickly to the schoolroom. 
Alas! alas! she was given carte blanche with regard 
to her dress. Miss O’Hara loved gay clothing. She 
came out of her room at last bedizened with fluttering 


^38 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


ribbons, wherever ribbons could be put. Her dress 
was of shimmering sea green ; she wore a large white 
hat, trimmed with enormous ostrich feathers; white 
kid gloves were drawn up her arms. Her parasol was 
of white lace, interspersed with bows of sea-green vel- 
vet. This gorgeous costume had not before seen the 
light. It suited Biddy, whose radiant sort of beauty 
could bear any amount of dress. Beside this splendid 
young person, quiet Janet May seemed to sink into 
utter insignificance. Miss Patience gave a gasp when 
Bridget appeared, but Lady Kathleen Peterham smiled 
with broad satisfaction. 

“Ah!” she said, rising from her chair, “I call that 
costume really tasty. The moment I saw it at Worth’s 
I knew it would suit you, Biddy, down to the ground. 
No, you naughty child, I’d be afraid even to whisper to 
you what it cost ; but come along now, both of you, or 
we’ll be late for all our fun. Miss Patience, I see you 
are lost in admiration of Bridget’s turn-out.” 

“I must be frank with you, Lady Kathleen,” said 
Miss Patience. “I consider your niece’s dress most un- 
suitable — the child is only fifteen. A white muslin, 
with a blue ribbon belt, is the fitting costume for her, 
and not all that tomfoolery. You’ll excuse me, Lady 
Kathleen; I think you and Mr. O’Hara make a great 
mistake in overdressing Miss Biddy as you do.” 

“Oh, come, come,” said Lady Kathleen, “Bridget is 
my poor dear sister’s only child, and my brother-in-law 
and I can’t make too much of her. In school hours, of 
course, she can be as plain as you please, but out of 

school ” The lady raised her eyebrows, and her 

expression spoke volumes. 

“Come, my dear,” she said. 


ELEGAATT LITTLE CREATURES. 139 

A moment later the gay little victoria was bowling 
back to Eastcliff, and Lady Kathleen was pouring out a 
volley of eager remarks to Janet May. The change 
from the dull routine of school life bewildered and de- 
lighted sober Janet; she forgot her habitual reserve, 
and became almost communicative. Biddy, notwith- 
standing all her fine feathers, seemed for some reason 
or other slightly depressed, but Janet had never known 
herself in better spirits. 

“What a sweet companion you are for my niece !” 
said Lady Kathleen. “You may be quite sure, my 
love, that I’ll tell my brother-in-law all about you. I 
shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he invited you to the 
Castle for the holidays. I shall be there, and we are 
going to have all kinds of gay doings. Eh, Biddy, love, 
what do you say to having your pretty school friend 
with you? Why, how pensive you look, my deary!’’ 

“When I see you. Aunt Kathleen, I cannot help 
thinking of father and the dogs,” said Bridget abruptly. 
She turned her head away as she spoke. 

“Oh, my darling, the dogs; that recalls something to 
my mind. Minerva has had four pups, elegant little 
creatures, thoroughbred, every one of them. Dennis 
telegraphed their arrival to me last night.” 

Janet thought this information highly uninteresting, 
but Biddy’s cheeks quite flamed with excitement. She 
asked innumerable and eager questions, and absorbed 
all Lady Kathleen’s attention until they reached the 
gay hotel where the lady was staying at Eastcliff. 

Lady Kathleen Peterham had a suite of rooms to 
herself, and no pains were spared to make these as lux- 
urious and beautiful as possible. The wide balconies 
of her drawing room, which looked directly over the 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


140 

sea, were gay with many brilliant and lovely flowers. 
They were also protected from the rays of the sun by 
coot green-and-white striped awnings. 

Lunch was ready when the girls arrived, but imme- 
diately afterward Lady Kathleen took them out to sit 
on the balcony with her. 

“We will have our ices and coffee here, Johnson,” 
she said to the servant who waited on them. 

As she spoke, she sank into a comfortable chair, and 
taking up a large crimson fan, began to move it slowly 
backward and forward before her somewhat heated 
face. 

Lady Kathleen was still a very handsome woman. 
Her blue eyes resembled Bridget’s in their brightness 
and vivacity; but her skin, brows, and hair were much 
darker, and her expression, although vivacious and 
winning, had not that charming innocence about it 
which marked Bridget’s young face. 

Lady Kathleen was a woman of about five-and-thirty. 
She was made on a large scale, and the first slenderness 
of youth was already lost. She had seen a great deal 
of what she called “life,” for she had married early, and 
had lived almost ever since in Paris with her husband. 

Hers was a somewhat frivolous nature. She was 
imprudent, injudicious, incapable of really guiding the 
young; but, at the same time, she was the soul of good 
nature, and would not willingly have hurt the smallest 
living creature. 

Janet could not help being greatly impressed by 
Lady Kathleen. If there was one point more strongly 
developed than another in Janet’s character it was her 
worldliness. She was a lady by birth, but she was 
poor. Some day Janet knew that she would have to 


HIGHLY PLEASE/). 


141 

earn her own living. She had the most intense re- 
peat, therefore, for those people who were blessed with 
an abundance of this world’s goods. Hers was natu- 
rally a cold, cynical, and calculating nature. Bridget 
was, in reality, not in the least to her taste, but the 
rumors of Bridget’s wealth had always been pleasant to 
listen to. On account of these rumors, Janet had done 
what she considered good service to the willful and 
headstrong schoolgirl. 

She felt highly pleased now with her own worldly 
wisdom, as she sat under the shelter of the green-and- 
white awning, and ate strawberry ices, and sipped her 
coffee. 

Lady Kathleen was, in all respects, a woman to Jan- 
et’s taste. She had the savoir faire which impresses 
young girls. Janet’s respect for Bridget increased 
tenfold when she saw that she was related to such a 
woman, and she wondered to herself how the aunt could 
have so much style and the niece be so gauche. 

Lady Kathleen, who was determined to make the 
day delightful to her young companions, questioned 
Janet eagerly with regard to her school and school 
pursuits. 

“Now, my darling,” she said, “you must tell me 
about your little world. I know what school is. I was 
at school myself for many a weary year. At school 
there always is a big excitement going on. What’s the 
present one?” 

Biddy had seated herself close to the edge of the bal- 
cony, and was looking out over the sea. She was 
thinking of the Castle, and of Minerva, and of the cher- 
ished litter of pups ; of her father’s excitement, and Pat 
Donovan’s raptures, and Norah Mahoney’s comments. 


142 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


She saw the Irish serving man and woman gesticu- 
lating and exclaiming; she saw her father’s white hair 
and weatherbeaten, eagle face, and could almost hear 
his deep tones of satisfaction as he bent over Minerva, 
and patted her wise head. 

“Biddy!” shrieked Lady Kathleen; “Biddy, child, 
wake up ! What in the world have you gone off into 
one of those brown studies for? Here's this dear little 
Janet telling me that you’re going to have a Fancy 
Fair at Mulberry Court.” 

“Oh, yes. Aunt Kathie,” said Bridget; “I believe 
we are.” 

“Well, child, and isn’t that a bright, lively sort of 
amusement for you? And the bazaar is to be fora 
charitable object, too? Splendid! splendid! Why, 
Dennis will be quite delighted when I tell him. I 
always said the Court was the right school for you, 
Biddy. It gives a sort of all-round training. It isn’t 
only accomplishments — tinkle, tinkle on the piano, and 
that sort of thing — hearts are also thought of, and 
trained properly to think of others. Well, darlings, 
I’m very much pleased about the bazaar, and this good 
little Janet tells me that it is her idea; most creditable 
to her. You are the head of the whole thing, are you 
not, Janet?” 

“No,” said Janet, trying to speak in a calm, indiffer- 
ent voice; “of course / don’t mind; I cant mind, but 
one of Mrs. Freeman’s strictest rules is that seniority 
goes before all else. I am not the head girl of the 
school. Lady Kathleen; the head girl’s name is Evelyn 
Percival, and, although I was the one to think of the 
Fancy Fair, and although Evelyn was away from the 
school during the first two or three weeks while the 


GOOD LITTLE JANET. 


143 


matter was being planned out and we were getting 
materials ready for our stalls, still, the moment she 
came home, Mrs. Freeman insisted on our asking her 
to join the committee, and since then she has taken the 
lead, and hers will be the principal stall on the day of 
the fair.” 

“And you'll be nowhere, so to speak?” said Lady 
Kathleen. 

“Well, I don't know that; I hope to have a pretty 
stall too; Bridget is helping me with my stall; aren't 
you, Biddy?” 

“I don't know that I am,” replied Bridget. “Father 
sent me a little money to buy a few pretty things, and 
that was about all that I could do. I love pretty 
things, but I am no worker.” 

She turned away as she spoke, and once more looked 
out over the sea with longing in her eyes. 

Lady Kathleen had a keen perception of character. 
Janet had spoken in a very quiet, subdued voice, but 
the fact was by no means lost on the good lady that 
she was terribly chagrined at the position she was 
obliged to occupy at the fair. 

“Confess, my little one; you don't like being sec- 
ond,” she said, bending over her and tapping her fair 
head with the large crimson fan. 

Janet colored faintly. “‘What can't be cured,'” 
she said, shrugging her shoulders. 

Lady Kathleen took up the proverb and finished it. 
“‘Must be endured,’” she said. “But I don’t believe 
that this position of affairs can’t be cured. It strikes 
me as extremely unfair that you should have had the 
trouble of getting up this fair, and then that you 
should be pushed into a second position. I don’t care 


144 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


if fifty Mrs. Freemans say you are not to be first. I 
don’t choose that my niece, Bridget O’Hara, should 
have anything to do with a second-rate stall ; or a 
second-rate position. Wake up, Biddy, child, and listen 
to me; I insist upon one thing — you and Janet are to 
be first on the day of the fair.” 

Janet’s eyes began to sparkle, and the faint glow in 
her cheeks grew bright and fixed. Her eager expres- 
sion spoke volumes, but she did not utter a word. 
Bridget, however, exclaimed wearily: 

“Oh, what does it matter who is first ! Besides, 
whether you like it or not. Aunt Kathie, you can’t 
alter matters. Mrs. Freeman is mistress in her own 
school ; and if she decides that Evelyn is to take the 
lead, Evelyn will take the lead, no matter whether you 
wish it or not, fifty times over.” 

“My good little Biddy, you are a bit of an innocent 
for all you are growing such a fine big girl — the pride 
of your father’s heart, and the light of your old auntie’s 
eyes! Little Janet has more wisdom than twenty 
great handsome creatures like you. Now, my pets, 
you listen to me; we’ll manage this matter by guile. 
Miss Percival may have the first stall at the bazaar, if 
she likes. Who cares twopence about that? You, 
Janet, and you, Biddy, will have the stall that all the 
visitors will flock to. You leave me to manage the 
matter; I’ll make your stall so lovely that all the 
others will sink into insignificance.” 

“Oh, will you?” exclaimed Janet; “how — how good 
you are!” 

“I will do it, my dear, I certainly will; the honor of 
the O’Haras is involved in this matter. Now, girls, 
you just put on your hats, and we’ll go round East- 


HOW KIND YOU ARE. 


145 


cliff, and see if we can’t pick up a basketful of pretty 
trifles for you to take home with you this evening. 
Of course, they will be nothing to what will presently 
follow, but they’ll just do for a beginning. You leave 
it to me, my loves; leave it all to me. This great, 
grand, wise Evelyn Percival can’t compete with Paris 
and the Rue Rivoli ; you leave it all to me.” 

“How kind you are,” said Janet again. 

“Don’t thank me,” said Lady Kathleen, rising; “it’s 
for the honor of the O’Haras. Whoever yet heard of 
an O’Hara eating humble pie, or taking a second 
position anywhere? Now, girls, run into my room, 
and make yourselves smart as smart can be, for we 
have plenty to do with our time, I can assure 
you. 

The rest of the day passed for Janet in a sort of de- 
licious dream. Money seemed as plentiful to Lady 
Kathleen Peterham as the pebbles on the seashore. 
Janet almost gasped as she saw the good lady take 
one gold piece after another out of her purse to expend 
on the merest nothings. Lady Kathleen had exqui- 
site taste, however, and many useless but beautiful 
ornaments were carefully tucked away in the large 
basket which was to be taken to Mulberry Court that 
evening. 

“I shall go to Paris on Monday,” said Lady Kath- 
leen; ‘H will telegraph to my husband to expect me. 
When is your bazaar? next Thursday? I shall be 
back at Eastcliff on Wednesday at the latest. One 
day in Paris will effect my purpose. I mean to attend 
this bazaar myself, and I mean to bring several friends. 
Do your best, loves, in the meantime to make as credit- 
able a show as possible, but leave the final arrange- 


146 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


ments, the crowning dash of light, color, and beauty 
to me.” 

When the two girls were starting for Mulberry 
Court in the evening, Lady Kathleen opened her purse 
and put five golden sovereigns into Biddy’s hand. “I 
don’t know how you are off for pocket money, my 
pet,” she said, “but here’s something to keep you go- 
ing. Now, good-night, dears ; good-night to you both.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

PEARSON’S BOOK OF ESSAYS. 

Now that the break-up day was so near, nothing 
was talked of in the school but the coming examina- 
tions, the prizes, and the delightful fair which was to 
bring such honor and renown to Mulberry Court. 
The school resembled a little busy hive of eager, ani- 
mated workers. Even play during these last days was 
forgotten, and everyone, from the eldest to the young- 
est, was pressed into the service of the fair. 

When the matter was first proposed, Mrs. Freeman 
had said to the girls: “You are abundantly welcome 
to try the experiment. My share will consist in giv- 
ing you a large marquee or tent ; everything else you 
must do yourselves. I shall invite people to see your 
efforts and to buy your wares. Each girl who contrib- 
utes to the bazaar will be allowed to ask two or three 
guests to be present ; the only stipulation I have to 
make is that you don’t produce a failure; you are 
bound, for the honor of the school, to make the fair a 
success.” 

The programme for the great day was something as 
follows: The examinations were to be held in the 
morning. Immediately afterward the prize-winners 
would receive their awards; there would be an in- 
terval for dinner; and at three o’clock the great fair 
would be opened, and sales would continue until dusk, 

147 


148 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


The girls who were to sell at the stalls were all to 
be dressed in white with green ribbons. Mrs. Freeman 
had herself selected this quiet and suitable dress; she 
had done this with a special motive, for she was partic- 
ularly anxious that Biddy should have no opportunity 
of displaying her finery. 

The evening before the great and important day 
arrived. Evelyn had purchased a great many useful 
and beautiful articles for her stall. She and Dolly 
were to be the saleswomen; and Mrs. Freeman had 
arranged that the principal stall should be at the top 
end of the large marquee. Janet felt a sarcastic smile 
curling her lips when this arrangement was made. 

“It does not really matter,” she said to herself; 
“Bridget’s and my stall will be exactly in the center. 
The light from the entrance to the tent will fall full 
upon it. After all, we shall have a better position, 
even than that occupied by the head stall.” She 
kept her thoughts to herself. Her spirits had never 
been better, her manners never more amiable, than 
since the day of her visit to Lady Kathleen. The 
girls who were working under her were very busy, and 
much delighted with the basket of beautiful things 
which had been brought from Eastcliff, but about any 
further contributions Janet was absolutely silent. 

On the afternoon of the day before the bazaar, 
Bridget came into the bedroom which was shared by 
Janet and one other girl. “Mrs. Freeman tells me that 
you are going into Eastcliff,” she said, 

“Yes,” replied Janet, “I’m to drive in with Marshall. 
‘‘There has been a mistake about some of the confec- 
tionery, and Mrs. Freeman wants me to go to Dove- 
bale’s, in the High Street, without delay, to order 


A LETTEk EkOM HOME. 


149 


some more cheese cakes, creams, and jellies. Frances 
Murray ought really to attend to this, for she is to 
manage the refreshment stall, but she happens to be 
in bed with a stupid headache. What’s the matter, 
Bridget? How excited you look! and, good gracious, 
my dear ! you have been crying ; your eyes have red 
rims round them.” 

“I have had a letter from home,” said Bridget, “and 
Pat Donovan is ill : he fell off the ladder and hurt his 
back. Norah Mahoney wrote about him — she’s aw- 
fully troubled. Poor Norah, she engaged to Pat, you 
know; she’s says he’s very bad, poor boy!” 

“Who in the world is Pat Donovan? and who is 
Norah Mahoney?” asked Janet, as she hastily drew on 
her gauntlet gloves. “Friends of yours, of course. 
But I never heard of them before.” 

‘ ‘They are very dear friends of mine,” replied Bridget ; 
“they are two of the servants; I love them very much. 
Poor, poor Pat! Norah has been engaged to him for 
years and years, and now only to think of his being 
hurt so dreadfully! Norah wrote me such a sad 
letter. Fll read it to you, if you like.” 

“No thanks, my dear; I really have no time to 
listen to the sorrows of your servants. It is too ab- 
surd, Bridget, to go on like that! Why, you’re crying 
again, you great baby ! I thought, when you spoke 
of them, that you meant people in your own 
rank.” 

“I won’t tell you any more!” said Biddy, coloring 
crimson. “You have no heart, or you wouldn’t speak 
in that horrid tone! Dear, dear Pat! I’m ten thou- 
sand times fonder of him than I am of an37one else in 
the world, except father and the dogs, and, perhaps, 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


150 

Aunt Kathleen. 1 used to ride on his shoulder all 
over the farm when I was quite a little tot !” 

“Well, my dear, I must run now. I am sorry that I 
can’t sympathize with you.” 

“Yes; but, Janet, one moment. I want to send a 
little present to Pat ; I can, for Aunt Kathleen gave 
me five pounds. I want to send him a post-office 
order for two pounds, and I want to know if you will 
get it for me. Here’s the letter, all written, and here 
are the two sovereigns. Will you get a postal order 
and put it into the letter for me, Janet, and then post 
it at Eastcliff?” 

“But you are going home yourself in a couple of 
days.” 

“Oh! that doesn’t matter; I wouldn’t leave Pat a 
hour longer than I could help without his letter. 
You may fancy how fond I am of him, when I tell 
you that he has the care of Minerva and the 
pups.” 

“I think you’re a great goose,” said Janet. “But 
there’s no time to argue. Give me the money, child, 
and let me go.” 

“Be sure you post the letter in good time,” said 
Bridget. “Here it is; I haven’t closed it.” 

She laid the directed envelope on Janet’s dressing 
table, put the two sovereigns on the top of it, and ran 
off. 

The whole place was in bustle and confusion. 
Many of the girls were packing their trunks prepara- 
tory to the great exodus which would take place the 
day after to-morrow. Evelyn and her favorite friends 
were sitting in the large summerhouse which faced 
the front of the house. They were chatting and 


VLL GO AWAY. 


151 

laughing merrily, and seeing Biddy they called to her 
to come and join them. Her impulse was to rush to 
them, and pour out some of her troubles in Dolly’s 
kind ears; but then she remembered certain sarcastic 
sayings of Janet’s. Janet’s many insinuations were 
taking effect on her. 

‘‘They all look good enough up in that summer- 
house,” she said to herself; “but according to Janet 
they are each of them shams. Oh, dear, dear, what a 
horrid place the world is! I don’t think there’s any- 
one at all nice in it, except father and the dogs, and 
Pat and Norah. Aunt Kathie is pretty well, but even 
she is taken in by Janet. I don’t think school is doing 
me any good ; 1 hate it more and more every day. I 
shan’t join the girls in the summerhouse; I’ll go away 
and sit by myself.” 

She turned down a shady walk, and presently seat- 
ing herself under a large tree, and, clasping her hands 
round her knees, she began to think with pleasure of 
the fast approaching holidays. 

While Bridget was so occupied, two ladies passed at 
a little distance arm in arm. They were Miss Delicia 
and the English mistress. Miss Dent. These two 
were always good friends; they were both kind- 
hearted, and inclined to indulge the girls. They were 
great favorites, and were supposed to be very easily 
influenced. 

When she saw them approach, Bridget glanced 
lazily round. They did not notice her, but made 
straight for the little rustic bower close to the tree 
under which she was sitting. 

“I can’t account for it,” said Miss Dent. ‘‘Of 
course, I have always found plenty of faults in Bridget 


152 


BASHFUL FIFTH ExV. 


O’Hara, but I never did think that she would stoop to 
dishonor.” 

Bridget locked her hands tightly together; a great 
wave of angry color mounted to her temples. Her 
first impulse was to spring to her feet, to disclose her- 
self to the two ladies, and angrily demand the mean- 
ing of their words. Then a memory of something 
Violet had said came over her; she sat very still; she 
was determined to listen. 

‘T think you must be mistaken, Sarah,” said Miss 
Delicia to her friend. “I know my sister, Mrs. Free- 
man, thinks that Bridget, with all her faults, has a fine 
character. I heard her saying so to Patience one day. 
Patience, poor dear, just lacks the very thing she was 
called after, and Henrietta said to her: ‘The material 
is raw, but it is capable of being fashioned into some- 
thing noble.’ I must say I agreed with Henrietta.” 

“My dear Delicia,” responded the other lady, ‘‘am I 
unjust, suspicious, or wanting in charity?” 

‘‘No, Sarah; Patience — poor Patience — does fail in 
those respects occasionally; but no one can lay these 
sins to your door.” 

‘‘ I am glad to hear you say so. Now you must listen 
to the following facts. You know what a queer med- 
ley that poor girl’s mind is in ; she has a good deal of 
knowledge of a certain kind : she has poetic fancy, and 
brilliant imagination, she has a lovely singing voice, 
and the expression she throws into her music almost 
amounts to genius ; nevertheless, where ordinary school 
work is concerned, the girl is an absolute ignoramus. 
Her knowledge of geography is a blank. Kamschatka 
may be within a mile of London, for all she knows to 
the contrary, Africa may be found at the opposite side 


NO HELP FOR IT. 


153 


of the Straits of Dover; her spelling is too atrocious 
for words. As to arithmetic, she is a perfect goose 
whenever she tries to conquer the smallest and 
simplest sum.” 

“Well, my dear,” interrupted Miss Delicia, “granted 
all this, the poor child has been sent to school to be 
taught, I suppose. I can't see why she should be 
accused of dishonor because she is ignorant.” 

“My dear friend, you must allow me to continue. I 
am coming to my point immediately. When Bridget 
first came to school, she was placed in the lowest class 
in the middle school. She was with girls a couple of 
years her juniors. Mrs. Freeman was much distressed 
at this arrangement, for Bridget is not only fifteen — 
she arrived at that age since she came to school — but 
she is a remarkably developed, grown-up-looking girl 
for her years; to have to do lessons, therefore, wij;h 
little girls of twelve and thirteen was in every way bad 
for her. 

“There was no help for it, however, and we had 
really to strain a point to keep her out of the lower 
school. 

“For two or three weeks Biddy did as badly as any 
girl with a reasonable amount of brains could. Each 
day we felt that we must take her out of the middle 
school. Then occurred that unfortunate accident, 
when Evelyn Percival was so nearly' hurt. That 
seemed to bring things to a crisis. Bridget was pun- 
ished, you remember?” 

“Yes,” said Miss Delicia, nodding her wise head, “I 
remember perfectly.” 

“Bridget was punished,” continued Miss Dent, “but 
on that day also she submitted to authority. The 


154 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


next morning she took her usual place in class, but — 
lo and behold! there was a marked and sudden im- 
provement. Her spelling was correct, the different 
places in the world began to assume their relative posi- 
tions. Her sums were more than good. In two or 
three days she had risen to the head of her class; she 
was moved into a higher one, and took a high place in 
that also. This state of things continued for a fort- 
night ; we were all in delight, for the girl had plenty 
about her to win our interest. All she wanted to make 
her one of the most popular girls in the school was 
attention to the rules, and a certain power of getting 
on at her lessons. 

“This golden fortnight in Biddy’s life, however, came 
to an end. Her aunt. Lady Kathleen Peterham, called 
a week ago, and took her and Janet May to Eastcliff. 
On that very morning Bridget had absolutely no les- 
sons to say; she had not written out her theme, she 
had not learned her geography ; her sum book was a 
blank. From that day she has returned to her normal 
state of ignorance ; her lessons are as hopelessly badly 
learnt as ever.’’ 

“Well, well,’’ said Miss Delicia, “I am sorry for the 
poor child. That rather silly aunt of hers probably 
turned her brain, but I cannot even now see how you 
make her conduct dishonorable. She’s a naughty 
child, of course, and we must spur her on to greater 
efforts next time; but as to her being wanting in 
honor^ that’s a strong word, Sarah.’’ 

“Wait a minute,’’ said Miss Dent. “You know the 
girls have to give up all their exercise books a 
couple of days before the examinations? Bridget 
handed me hers a couple of days ago. Her books 


FORCE OF CONTRAST. 


155 


were disgraceful — blotty, untidy, almost illegible. I 
examined them in hopeless despair. Suddenly my 
eyes were arrested ; I was looking through the Eng- 
lish themes. 

“ ‘Ah !’ I said, ‘here is the little oasis in the desert ; 
these are the exercises Biddy wrote during the fort- 
night she was so good.’ 

“I suppose it was the force of the contrast, but I 
looked at these neatly written, absolutely correct, well 
spelled pages in astonishment. Busy as I was, I felt 
obliged to read one of the little essays over again ; the 
subject was ‘Julius Caesar.’ Bridget went up to the 
top of her class for the masterly way in which she had 
worked out her little essay. I read it over again, in 
perplexity and admiration. The English was correct, 
the style vigorous; there were both conciseness and 
thought in the well turned sentences. One phrase, 
however, struck on my ear with a curious sense of 
familiarity. At first I said to myself, ‘I remarked this 
sentence when Bridget read her theme aloud, that is 
the reason why it is so familiar,’ but my mind was not 
satisfied with this explanation. Like a flash I remem- 
bered where I had seen it before. I said to myself the 
child has got this out of Pearson’s book of English ex- 
tracts. Her essay is admirable, even without this con- 
cluding thought. I must tell her to put marks of quo- 
tation another time when she uses phrases not her 
own. I rose and went to the bookcase, and taking 
down Pearson, looked out his remarks on Julius Caesar. 
My dear Delicia, judge of my feelings; the little essay 
was copied word for word from Pearson’s book! It 
was a daring act, and, putting the wickedness out of 
sight, almost a silly one, for to quote from such a well- 


156 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


known author as Pearson was naturally almost to invite 
discovery. All the good, carefully written essays were 
copied from the same volume. I can at last under- 
stand why Bridget has fallen back into her old state of 
hopeless ignorance. I can also, alas ! understand that 
golden fortnight of promise.” 

“But this is dreadful!” said Miss Delicia. “What 
have you done; have you told my sister yet?” 

“No, I wanted to consult you before I spoke to any- 
one else on the matter.” 

Bridget got up slowly and softly, and moved away 
down the shady path ; the two ladies did not see her as 
she went. She soon found herself standing on the open 
lawn in front of the house. The great marquee was 
being put up there ; several workmen were busy, and 
little girls were fluttering about like gay, happy butter- 
flies. Alice, Violet, and two or three more ran up to 
her when they saw her. “We are making wreaths of 
evergreens; won’t you help us, Bridget?” they ex- 
claimed. 

“No,” she said; “I have a headache — don’t worry 
me.” She turned abruptly away and walked down the 
avenue. 

She had no longer any wish to break the rules, but 
she thought she would wait about near the entrance 
gates, in order to catch Janet on her way back from 
Eastcliff. 

The girls were all busy round the marquee, and 
Bridget had this part of the avenue to herself ; she 
went and stood near an ivy-covered wall; leaned 
her elbows against the trunk of a tree, and waited ; 
a motionless, but pretty figure, her gay ribbons 
streaming about her, her hat pushed back from her 


STUNNED AND SORE. 


157 


forehead, her puzzled, troubled eyes looking on the 
ground. 

Bridget knew that Janet would be back within an 
hour. It mattered very little to her how long she had 
to wait ; she felt too stunned and sore to be troubled 
by any keen sense of impatience. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“i’m big— and I’m desperate.” • 

A 

As soon as Janet found herself alone in the pony 
trap, she took a letter out of her pocket, opened it, and 
read its contents with eagerness. These were the 
words on which her eyes fell : 

jMy Dear, Good Little Janey : 

I am afraid I cannot take your advice ; I cannot exercise the 
virtue of patience another day. Mine has run its course, my dear, 
and the whole stock*is exhausted. I have resolved to leave my 
situation on Saturday. I have given Miss Simpkins notice — she 
does not believe me, of course, but she’ll know who’s right when 
Saturday comes, and she has no one to hector and bully and make 
life a misery to. I wonder where you are going to spend your 
holidays. Don’t go to Aunt Jane’s, I beg of you ; 1 know she has 
sent you an invitation, but don’t accept it. Now, couldn’t you and 
I go off for a little jaunt together to Margate, and have some fun ? 
And look here, dear, will you send me two pounds by return of 
post I absolutely must have the money, for Miss Simpkins paid 
me in full a week ago, and I shan’t have a penny when I leave, as 
of course, the little I get from her — she is the stingiest old wretch 
in existence ! — naturally goes to keep your humble servant in dress, 
stamps, paper, etc., etc. Lend me two pounds, like a darling. 
I’ll pay it back when I can. I do not want to go to Aunt Jane’s, 
and I will have to do it if you cannot oblige me, Janey ; but if you 
can I will go to Margate and take a bedroom there, which you 
can share, my love, and we’ll have some fun, if it’s only for a 
couple of days. 

Your loving sister, 


158 


Sophia. 


VERY PRETTY. 


159 


“Poor Sophy,” exclaimed Janet. She folded up the 
letter and placed it in her pocket. “I wonder where 
she thinks Fm going to get two pounds from?” she 
muttered. “I am as hard up as a girl can be. Sophy 
might have stayed with Miss Simpkins, but she’s a sort 
of bad penny; always returning on one’s hands when 
one least expects her. Well, I don’t see how Fm going 
to help her. It would be very nice to go to Margate 
with her, but what would Mrs. Freeman say? No, I 
think I know a better plan than that. I am not going 
to Aunt Jane’s for the holidays; I am going to have a 
good time, but it won’t be at Margate. Suppose Sophy 
came, too? she’s very pretty, and very clever, and I 
think Lady Kathleen would like her awfully. I must 
think over this. Oh, here we are at Eastcliff. Now, 
my dear little Biddy, the first thing to be done is post 
your letter, but if you think I am going to get that 
postal order, and place it in it, you are vastly mistaken. 
I do not at all know that I shall send the two sov- 
ereigns to Sophy, but it is convenient to have them 
at hand in case of need.” 

Janet was always very cool and methodical in her 
movements. She never, as the phrase goes, “lost her 
head.” She could also make up her mind clearly and 
decidedly. Having done so, she now proceeded to act. 
She slipped her sister’s most troublesome letter into 
her pocket, and driving to the pastry cook’s, ordered 
the creams, jellies, and other refreshments necessary 
for the next day’s entertainment. She then went to 
the post office and wrote a few lines. 

My Dear Sophy [she wrote] : How am I to get two pounds ? 
You must be mad to think that I can send you so large a sum of 
money. If Aunt Jane pays for my schooling, she takes very good 


i6o 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


care to stint my pocket money. You had better be wise and go 
straight to her when you leave Miss Simpkins. I may have a nice 
plan to propose in a day or two, but am not sure. You may be 
certain I’ll do my best for you, only do be patient. 

Your affectionate sister, 

Janet May. 

This letter was sealed and directed, and in company 
with Bridget’s found its way into one of Her Majesty’s 
mail bags ; then Janet stepped once again into the pony 
carriage, and desired the coachman to drive her back 
to Mulberry Court. 

The two sovereigns were snugly placed in her purse. 
She had not yet quite made up her mind to steal them, 
but she liked even the temporary sense of wealth and 
possession that they gave her. 

The wickedness of her own act did not trouble her 
hardened conscience; she sat lazily back in the snug 
little carriage, and enjoyed the pleasant feel of the 
summer breeze against her forehead. A passing sense 
of annoyance swept over her as she thought of Sophy. 
Sophy was nineteen ; a very pretty, empty-headed girl. 
She had not half Janet’s abilities. She was really af- 
fectionate, but weak, and most easily led. Janet was 
three years younger than her sister, but in force of char- 
acter she was several years her senior. The two girls 
were orphans. They had lived a scrambling sort of life ; 
tossed about when they were little children, from one 
uncomfortable home to another. Finally, at the ages 
of fourteen and eleven, they found themselves with a 
very strict and puritanical old aunt. Her influence was 
bad for both of them, particularly for Janet. Old Aunt 
Jane was a very good and excellent woman, but she did 
pot understand the two badly trained and badly dis- 


STOP, /OATES/ 


i6i 

ciplined girls. She was by no means rich, but she strug- 
gled to educate them. Sophy was not clever enough to 
undertake the somewhat arduous duties required from 
governesses in the present day, but Miss Laughton took 
great pains to get her a post as companion. Janet had 
plenty of abilities, and she was sent to Mulberry Court 
to be trained as a teacher. 

The girls were fond of each other. Perhaps the only 
person in the wide world whom Janet really loved was 
this frivolous and thoughtless sister. She ruled Sophy, 
and, when with her, made her do exactly what she 
wished ; but still, after a fashion, she felt a very gen- 
uine affection for her. 

"‘Sophy might have stayed at Miss Simpkins’s,” mut- 
tered Janet, as she drove back to the Court ; “but as she 
has given notice, there’s no help for it. I must get 
Lady Kathleen to invite her to Ireland when I go. I’m 
determined to manage that little affair for myself, and 
Sophy may as well join in the fun.” 

The carriage turned in at the white gates of 
Mulberry Court, and Bridget sprang forward to 
meet it. 

“Get out, Janet!” she said, in an imperious, excited 
voice ; ‘‘get out at once ; I have something to say to 
you.” 

‘‘Stop, Jones,” called Janet to the driver. ‘‘If you 
want to speak to me, Bridget, you had better jump into 
the carriage, for I mean to go back to the house; I 
want to speak to Mrs. Freeman.” 

‘‘You won’t do anything of the kind,” said Bridget; 
‘‘you have got to speak to me first ; if you don’t. I'll go 
straight to Miss Delicia and Miss Dent and tell them 
everything. I know now about Pearson’s extracts, and 


i 62 


BASHFUL FIFTEEH. 


I’ll tell about them ; yes, 1 will ; I won’t live under this 
disgrace! You had better jump out at once, and let 
me speak to you, or I’ll tell.” 

Bridget’s eyes were flashing with anger, and her 
cheeks blazing with excitement. 

In this mood she was not to be trifled with. 

Janet could not comprehend all her wild words, but 
she guessed enough to feel an instant sense of alarm. 
There was danger ahead, and danger always rendered 
Janet May cool and collected. 

“My dear child,” she exclaimed, “why do you speak 
in such a loud, excited voice? Of course, I’ll go and 
talk to you if you really want me. Jones, please take 
this basket carefully to the house, and if you see Mrs. 
Freeman tell her that I shall be with her in a few 
minutes, and that everything is arranged quite satis- 
factorily for to-morrow. Don’t forget my message, 
Jones.” 

“No, miss; I’ll be careful to remember.” The 
man touched his hat. Janet alighted from the pony 
trap, and, taking Bridget’s hand, walked up the avenue 
with her. 

“Now, you dear little Quicksilver,’' she exclaimed, 
“what is the matter? I posted your letter, my love, 
so that weight is off your mind.” 

“Thank you, Janet,” exclaimed poor Bridget; “you 
did not forget to put the postal order in, did you?” 

Janet raised her delicate brows in well-acted aston- 
ishment. 

“Is that likely?” she exclaimed. “But now, why 
this excitement? Have you heard fresh news of that 
valuable Pat, and that delightful Norah?” 

“Janet, you are not to talk of the people I love in 


DBA/? LITTLE SAINT. 


163 


that tone ; I won’t have it ! I quite hate you when you 
go on like this. I’m not mean, but I know what you 
are wanting, and I shall speak to Aunt Kathleen and 
ask her not to invite you to Ireland if you go on in 
this way. Aunt Kathleen likes you because she does 
not know you, but I can soon open her eyes.” 

Janet put on a mock tone of alarm. 

“You must not crush me, my dear,” she exclaimed; 
“it zvoitld be a trial not to go to the Castle. There, 
there, I don’t want really to tease you, my love. Now, 
what is the matter? Why have you been making 
those extraordinary remarks about Pearson? Who is 
Pearson?” 

“You know better than I do, Janet. I’ll tell you 
what has happened. You copied a lot of themes, and 
gave them to me as if they were your own to 
put into my exercise book. It was very, very wrong 
of me to let you help me at all, but, of course, I 
thought that you had done so without referring to 
books.” 

“My dear little saint! I don’t see what difference 
that makes !” 

“I don’t suppose it makes any difference in the wick- 
edness,” retorted Bridget ; “but it certainly does in the 
chance of being found out. I overheard Miss Dent and 
Miss Delicia talking in one of the summerhouses; 
Miss Dent has discovered that my essays were copied 
from Pearson’s extracts, and she’s awfully angry, and 
Miss Delicia is horrified. I won’t live under it! no, I 
won’t! I was awfully wicked ever to allow it, but I’d 
much, much rather confess everything now. I am an 
idle, scapegrace sort of a girl ; but I can’t think how I 
ever submitted to your making me dishonorable. I’m 


i64 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


horribly dishonorable, and I could die of the shame of 
it! ril go straight this very minute to Mrs. Freeman, 
and tell her to punish me as much as ever she likes. 
The only thing I shall beg of her is not to tell father, 
for this is a sort of thing that would break my father’s 
heart. You must come with me, of course, Janet; 
you must come at once and explain your share in the 
matter. That’s what I waited for you here for. It is 
most important that everything should be told without 
a minute’s delay.” 

Bridget’s words were poured out with such intense 
passion and anguish that Janet was impressed in spite 
of herself. She was not only impressed ; she was 
frightened. It took a great deal to arouse the sense of 
alarm in her calm breast, but she did realize now that 
she had got herself and the young Irish girl into a con- 
siderable scrape, and that, if she did not wish to have 
all h er own projects destroyed, it behooved her to be 
extremely wary. 

“Let us go down -and walk by the sea, Biddy,” she 
said. “Oh, yes, there’s plenty of time ; meals will be 
quite irregular to-day. Why, how you tremble, you 
poor little creature!” 

“I’m not little,” said Bridget ; “I’m big, and I’m des- 
perate. The time has gone by for you to come round 
me with soft words, Janet. Why am I to go and walk 
with you by the sea? The thing to be done is for us 
both to find Mrs. Freeman, and tell her, without min- 
cing words, how wicked we are.” 

“Have you really made up your mind to do this?” 
said Janet. 

She turned and faced her companion. The color had 
left her cheeks, her lips trembled, her eyes were dilated. 


NOT RICH LIKE YOU. 


165 

“Do you positively mean to do this cruel thing?” 
she repeated. 

“Cruel?” said Bridget, stamping her foot; ‘‘it’s the 
only bit of justice left; it’s the one last chance of our 
ever retrieving our position. Oh, do come with me at 
once; there’s just time for us to see Mrs. Freeman 
before tea.” 

“You can go, Bridget,” said Janet. “If you are de- 
termined to go I cannot prevent you. You can make 
all this terrible mischief if you like; but you must do it 
alone, for I shall not be with you. The effect of your 
confession will be this: you will suffer some sort of 
punishment, and by and by you will be forgiven ; and 
by and by, too, you will forget what you now consider 
such an awful tragedy ; but what you are now doing 
will ruin me for all my life. I am only sixteen — but no 
matter. However long I live I shall never be able to 
get over this step that you are taking. If you go — as 
you say you will — to Mrs. Freeman, there is only one 
thing for me to do, and that is to run away from school. 
I won’t remain here to be expelled ; for expelled I shall 
be if you tell what you say you will of me. They’ll 
make out that I am worse than you, and they’ll expel 
me. You don’t know the effect that such a disgrace 
will have on my future. I am not rich like you ; I 
have no father to break his heart about me. The only 
relations I have left in the world are an old aunt, who 
is very stingy and very hard-hearted, and who would 
never forgive me if I did the smallest thing to incur 
her displeasure ; and one sister, who is three years older 
than myself, and who is very pretty and very silly, and 
who has written to me to say she has lost her situation 
as companion. If you do what you are going to do, 


i66 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Bridget, I shall walk back to Eastcliff, and take the 
next train to Bristol, where Aunt Jane lives. You will 
ruin me, of course; but I don’t suppose that fact will 
influence your decision. I did what I did for you out 
of a spirit of pure kindliness; but that, too, will be for- 
gotten, now that your conscience has awakened. I am 
just waiting for you to choose what you will really do, 
Bridget, before I run away.” 

When Janet finished speaking she moved a few steps 
from her companion. She saw that her words had 
taken effect, for Biddy’s determined expression had 
changed to one of indecision and fresh misery ; her 
troubled eyes sought the ground, her red lips trembled. 

“I see you have made up your mind,” said Janet. 
(She saw quite the reverse, but she thought these 
words a politic stroke.) “I see you have quite made- 
up your mind,” she continued ; “so there is nothing for 
me to do but to go. Good-by ! I only wish I had 
never been so unlucky as to know you.” 

Janet turned on her heel, and began to walk down 
the avenue. 

‘‘You know you can't go like this,” Bridget called 
after her. ‘‘Stop! Listen to me! You know per- 
fectly well that, bad as you are, I don’t want to ruin 
you. I’ll go by myself, then, and say nothing about 
you. Will that content you?” 

‘‘I see you are going to be reasonable,” said Janet, 
returning, and taking her companion’s arm. ‘‘Now 
we can talk the matter out. Come down this shady 
walk, where no one will see us. Of course, the whole 
thing is most disagreeable and unpleasant, but surely 
two wise heads like ours can see a way even out of this 
difficulty.” 


WHAT ARE WE TO DO? 


167 


“But there is no way, Janet, except by just confess- 
ing that we have behaved very badly. Come along, and 
let us do it at once. I don’t believe you’ll get into the 
awful scrape you make out. I won’t let you ! I’ll take 
your part, and be your friend. You shall come to Ire- 
land with Aunt Kathleen and me, and father will be 
ever so kind to you, and perhaps — I’m not sure — 
but perhaps I’ll be able to give you one of the 
dogs.” 

“Thanks!” said Janet, slightly turning her head 
away ; “but even the hope of ultimately possessing 
one of those valuable quadrupeds cannot lighten the 
gloom of my present position. There is no help for it, 
Biddy, we must stick to one another, and resolve, what- 
ever happens, not to tell.” 

“But they know already,” said Bridget. “Miss Deli- 
cia and Miss Dent know already ! Did I not tell you 
that I overheard them talking about it?” 

“Yes, my dear, you did. It is really most perplex- 
ing. You must let me think for a moment what is 
best to be done.” 

Janet stood still in the center of the path; Bridget 
looked at her anxiously. 

“What a fool I was,” she murmured under her 
breath, “to use that extract book. It was just my lazi- 
ness; and how could I suppose that that stupid Miss 
Dent would go and pry into it ? It will be a mercy if she 
does not discover where some of my own happy ideas 
have come from. If I trusted to my own brains I could 
have concocted something quite good enough to raise 
poor little Biddy in her class. Discovery would then 
have been impossible. Oh, what a sin laziness is!” 

“What are we to do?” said Bridget, looking anx- 


i68 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


iously at her companion. “We have very little time to 
make up our minds in, for probably before now Miss 
Dent and Miss Delicia have told Mrs. Freeman. I do 
want, at least, to have the small merit of having told 
my own sin before it has been announced by another. 
There’s no way out of it, Janet. Come and let us tell 
at once !” 

“How aggravating you are!” replied Janet. “There 
is a way out of it. You must give me until after tea to 
think what is best to be done. Ah! there's the gong! 
We cant tell now until after tea, even if we wished to. 
Come along, Bridget, let us return to the house. I’ll 
meet you in the South Walk at seven o’clock, and then 
I shall have something tangible to propose.’’ 

Bridget was obliged very unwillingly to consent to 
this delay. Hers was a nature always prone to ex- 
tremes. She thought badly of her conduct in allowing 
Janet to help her with her lessons ever since the mo- 
ment little Violet had given back the waxen doll, but 
even then she did not know the half of the sin which 
she and another had committed. It only needed Miss 
Dent and Miss Delicia to open her eyes. A sick sense 
of abasement was over her. Her proud spirit felt 
humbled to the very dust. She was so low about her- 
self that she looked forward to confession with almost 
relief. 

Janet’s nature, however, was a great deal firmer and 
more resolute than Bridget’s. There was no help for 
it : the Irish girl was bound to comply with her decision. 
The two walked slowly up to the house, where they 
parted, Janet running up to her room to take off her 
hat, wash her hands, and smooth her hair, and Biddy, 
tossing her shady hat off in the hall, and entering 


NICE. 


169 

the tea room looking messed and untidy. On another 
day she would have been reprimanded for this, but the 
excitement which preceded the grand break-up pre- 
vented anyone noticing her. She sank down in the 
first vacant seat, and listlessly stirred the tea which 
she felt unable to drink. 

Janet’s conduct in this emergency differed in all re- 
spects from Bridget’s. No girl could look fresher, 
sweeter, or more composed than she when, a moment or 
two later, she entered the long room. Mrs. Freeman 
was pouring out tea at the head of the table. Janet 
went straight up to her, and entered into a lucid expla- 
nation of what she had done at Eastcliff, and the pur- 
chases she had made. 

“Very nice, my dear! Yes, quite satisfactory. Ah! 
very thoughtful of you, Janet Sit down now, dear, 
and take your tea.” 

Janet found a place near Dolly. She ate heartily, 
and was sufficiently roused out of herself to be almost 
merry. 

When the girls were leaving the tea room, Janet lin- 
gered a little behind the others. Her eyes anxiously 
followed Miss Delicia, who, with a flushed face and 
dubious, uncertain manner, was watching her elder sis- 
ter, Mrs. Freeman. Miss Dent had not appeared at all 
at tea, which Janet regarded as a very bad sign, but she 
also felt sure, by the head mistress’s calm expression, 
that the news of Bridget’s delinquencies had not been 
revealed to her. Janet saw, however, by Miss Delicia’s 
manner that this would not long be the case. Janet 
had thought the matter over carefully, and had made 
up her mind to a determined and bold stroke. 

Miss Delicia, who had, as usual, been hopping about 


Bashful fifteen. 


176 

during the meal, attending to everyone’s comforts, and 
quite forgetting her own, was now seen by Janet to 
walk up by the side of the long table, evidently with 
the intention of waylaying Mrs. Freeman as she left 
the room. 

' With a sudden movement Janet frustrated her inten- 
tions. Mrs. Freeman passed out through the upper 
door of the tea room, and Miss Delicia found herself 
coming plump up against Janet May. 

“Oh, I want to speak to you !’’ said Janet. 

“Pardon me,” said Miss Delicia, “I will attend to you 
in a moment ; but, first of all, I wish to say a word to 
my sister; she will shut herself up in her own room, for 
she is going to be very busy over accounts, if I don’t 
immediately secure her. Fll be back with you in a 
moment, Janet, after I have spoken to Mrs. Freeman.” 

“Please forgive me,” said Janet, “but what I have to 
say is of very great importance. Perhaps you won’t 
want to speak to Mrs. Freeman after you have talked 
to me.” 

“Now, my dear, what do you mean?” 

Miss Delicia raised her kind, but somewhat nervous 
eyes. She was a little round body, nearly a head 
shorter than tall Janet May. 

“I want to speak to you by yourself,” said Janet; 
“it is of great importance — the very greatest. Please 
talk to me before you say anything to Mrs. Freeman.” 

“Come to my private room,” said Miss Delicia, tak- 
ing Janet’s hand in her own. “Come quickly before 
Patience sees us. Miss Patience is very curious; she 
will wonder what is up. Ah, here we are with the 
door shut; that is a comfort. Now, my dear, begin. 
Your manner quite frightens me.” 


LOVED THE MOST. 


171 

‘‘I have something most important to say. I am 
very glad — very, very glad — that it is to you, Miss De- 
licia, that I have got to say this thing. Your kindness 
is — is well known. Each girl in the school is well aware 
of the fact that you would not willingly hurt anyone.” 

‘‘My dear, none of us would do that, I hope.” Miss 
Delicia drew her little figure up. ‘‘We are Pickerings; 
my sister, Mrs. Freeman, is a Pickering by birth; and 
the Pickerings have been in the scholastic line from 
time immemorial. Those who guide the young ought 
always to be tolerant, always kind, always forbearing.” 

‘‘Yes, yes,” interrupted Janet, ‘‘I know that, of 
course, but some people are more forbearing than oth- 
ers. Mrs. Freeman, Miss Patience, and you are loved 
and respected by us all; but you are loved the most, 
for you are the kindest.” 

Miss Delicia’s little face flushed all over. 

“I am gratified, of course,” she said, ‘‘but this is 
the general feeling, I shall be most careful to keep the 
knowledge from my sisters Henrietta and Patience. 
Now, Janet, what is it you want to say to me?” 

“I want to speak to you about Bridget O’Hara.” 

Miss Delicia felt the color receding from her cheeks. 

‘‘Oh!” she exclaimed; “what about her? I may as 
well say at once that I am not happy with regard to 
that young girl.” 

“I know,” said Janet, ‘‘I — I know more than you 
think; that is what I want to speak about. Biddy has 
told me; poor Biddy, poor, poor misguided Biddy.” 

“Bridget O’Hara has told you? Told you what, 
Janet? It is your duty to speak; what has she told 
you?” 

“The truth, poor girl,” said Janet, shaking her head 


172 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


mournfully. “Fll tell you everything, Miss Delicia. 
Biddy, through an accident, overheard you and Miss 
Dent speak about her this afternoon.” 

“Then she’s an eavesdropper as well as everything 
else,” said Miss Delicia. “Oh, this is too bad. I did 
not suppose that such an absolutely unprincipled, 
wicked girl ever existed ; with her beautiful face too, 
and her kind, charming, open manners. Oh, she’s a 
wolf in sheep’s clothing, she will be the undoing of the 
entire school. It is very difficult, Janet, to rouse my 
anger, but when it is aroused I — I — well, I feel things 
extremely, my dear. I must go to Mrs. Freeman at 
once; don’t keep me, I beg.” 

Janet placed herself between Miss Delicia and the 
door. 

“I must keep you,” she said. “You are not often 
angry. Miss Delicia; I want you on this occasion to be 
very forbearing, and to restrain your indignation until 
you have at least listened to me. Biddy did not mean 
to eavesdrop.” 

“Oh, don’t talk to me, my dear!” 

“I must, I will talk to you. Please, please let me say 
my say. Biddy behaved badly, disgracefully, but she 
did not mean to listen. She was in trouble, poor girl, 
about a friend of hers, a servant who was ill in Ireland. 
She was sitting in the shrubbery thinking about it all 
when you and Miss Dent came and sat in the summer- 
house near by. You spoke her name, and said some 
very plain truths about her. She forgot all about going 
away and everything else in the intense interest with 
which she followed your words. She rushed away at 
last, and waited near the gates in the avenue to unbur- 
den herself to me. Whatever you may have said to 


SHE HAS NOT. 


173 

Miss Dent, Miss Delicia, the effect on Bridget was 
really heartrending; she told me that you had opened 
her eyes, that she saw at last the disgrace of her own 
conduct. I never could have believed that the poor 
girl could get into such a state of mind ; I really felt 
quite anxious about her. I don’t think my sympathies 
were ever more thoroughly aroused, and you know that 
I am not easily carried away by my feelings.” 

“That is certainly the character you have received 
in the school, Janet May.” 

”It is true,” repeated Janet, in her steady voice; “I 
am not demonstrative. Therefore, when I am roused 
to pity, the case which arouses me must be supposed 
to be extreme. Poor Biddy is in the most terrible 
anguish.” 

”Did she tell you, did she dare to tell you, that she 
copied her extracts from Pearson?” 

“She did, she told me everything. She says she is 
quite sure that Mrs. Freeman will expel her, and that, 
if so, her father will die of grief.” 

“Oh, she has deputed you, then, to plead for her?” 

“She has not ; it has never occurred to her that any- 
one should plead for her. She does not feel even a 
vestige of hope in the matter; but I do plead for 
her. Miss Delicia. I ask you to have mercy upon 
her.” 

“Mercy,” said Miss Delicia, “mercy! Is this sort of 
thing to go on in a respectable high-class school? We 
are not going to be heartlessly cruel to any girl, of 
course, but my sisters Henrietta and Patience must de- 
cide what is really to be done.” 

“I have come to you with a bold request,” said 
Janet. “I will state it at once frankly. 1 want you 


174 


BASHFUL FLFTEEM. 


not to consult your sisters about Bridget until — until 
after the festival to-morrow/’ 

“I can’t grant your request, my dear.” 

‘‘But please consider. I am taking great and personal 
interest in Bridget; you know that I am very steady.” 

‘‘You are, Janet ; you are one of the best girls in the 
school.” 

‘‘Thank you,” said Janet, ‘‘I try to do my duty; I 
take a great interest in Bridget, and I have an influence 
over her. You know how badly she has been brought 
up; you know how reckless she is, how untaught, how 
affectionate and generous she can be, and yet also how 
desperate and defiant. There are only two people in 
the world whom she greatly loves; her old father is 
one ; oh, she has told me lovely, pathetic stories about 
her gray-headed old father; and her aunt. Lady Kath- 
leen Peterham, is the other. To-morrow is to be a 
great day in the school, and if Bridget is to be in dis- 
grace and publicly held up to opprobrium, you can 
imagine what Lady Kathleen’s feelings will be — what 
Bridget’s own feelings will be. What will be the 
effect? Bridget will be taken away from school and 
in all probability never educated at all.” 

“But, my dear — you are a remarkably wise girl, 
Janet — my dear, the fact of my sisters knowing the 
truth about Bridget O’Hara need not be followed by 
public and open disgrace. We three must consult over 
the matter and decide what are the best steps to take.” 

‘‘Forgive me,” said Janet, “you know — you must 
know what Mrs. Freeman’s and Miss Patience’s senti- 
ments will be. If you, who are so gentle and charita- 
ble, feel intense anger, what will their anger be? Re- 
flect, Miss Delicia, you must reflect on the plain fact 


POR THE SAKE OF EXAMPLE. l/o 

that they will feel it their duty publicly to disgrace 
Bridget.” 

“For the sake of example,” murmured Miss Delicia. 

“Precisely,” said Janet, “for the sake of example; 
and Biddy’s character will be ruined forever. Lady 
Kathleen will take her from school, and all chance of 
making her what she may become, a brave and noble 
woman, will be at an end.” 

“If I thought that ” said Miss Delicia. 

“It is true. I assure you, it is true!” 

“What do you want me to do then, Janet?” 

“Simply to keep your knowledge to yourself for 
twenty-four hours.” 

“I am much puzzled,” murmured Miss Delicia. 
“You’re a queer girl, Janet May, but I will own there 
is wisdom in your words.” 

“How sweet you are. Miss Delicia! You will never, 
never repent of this forbearance.” 

“But there is Miss Dent to be thought of, my love. 
She is most unhappy about the whole thing.” 

“You will talk to her,” said Janet; “you will talk to 
her as if from yourself ; you will, of course, not mention 
me. for who am I? nothing but a schoolgirl. You will 
tell Miss Dent that you have thought it wisest to defer 
saying anything to Mrs. Freeman until the anxieties of 
to-morrow are over. Oh, it does seem only right and 
natural; I am so deeply obliged to you. May I kiss 
you ? This lesson in Christian forbearance will, I assure 
you, not be thrown away on me, and will, doubtless, 
be the saving of poor, poor Biddy.” 

Janet ran out of the room; Miss Delicia pressed her 
hand in a confused way to her forehead. 

“Have I really promised not to tell?” she murmured ; 

f 


176 


BASHFUL FIFTEEKI 


“I suppose so, although I don’t remember saying the 
words. What a queer, clever girl that is, and yet, at 
the same time, how really kind. It is noble of her to 
plead like that for Bridget ! Well, after all, twenty- 
four hours can’t greatly signify, and the delay will cer- 
tainly insure Henrietta and Patience a peaceful time. 
Now, I must go and talk to poor, dear Sarah Dent.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

BRIDGET O’HARA’S STALL. 

“And now, my dears,” said Mrs. Freeman, address- 
ing her assembled school, “we have come to the end of 
our school term ; the prizes have been distributed ; the 
examinations are over. To those girls who have 
succeeded in winning prizes, and who have, in conse- 
quence, been raised to higher classes in the school, I 
offer my most hearty congratulations; they have 
worked well and steadily, and they now reap their due 
rewards. You, my dears” — the head mistress waved 
her hand in the direction of the successful girls who 
were each of them pinning a white satin badge into 
their dresses, and were standing together in a little 
group — “you, my dears, will wear the badge of honor 
all through the remainder of this day ; may honor dwell 
in your hearts, and may success attend you through 
life; that success, my dear girls, which comes from 
earnest living, from constant endeavor to pursue the 
right, from constant determination to forsake the 
wrong. You have been successful in this day’s exam- 
inations; you have every reason to be pleased with 
your success; but, at the same time, it must not render 
you self-confident. In short, my dear girls, you must 
ask for strength other than your own to carry you 
safely though the waves of this troublesome world. I 
now want to say a word or two to those girls who have 


177 


178 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


not to-day earned prizes. I want you, my dear chil- 
dren, not to go away with any undue sense of discour- 
agement, If, through carelessness or inattention, you 
have not got the prize you coveted, you must try very 
hard to be careful and attentive next term ; you must 
also, however, remember that every girl cannot win a 
prize, but that patience and constant endeavor will 
secure to each of you the best rewards in due time. 
On \the whole, the term’s work has been satisfactory, 
and the progress made in every branch of study grati- 
fying. I now declare the school closed as far as lessons 
cire concerned. Some of you will go away to your own 
homes to-night ; some to-morrow morning. We shall 
all meet again, I hope, in September; and now there is 
a very happy time before us. To the courage and the 
thoughtfulness of a young girl in this school whom you 
all know — I allude to Janet May — we are going to have 
a Fancy Fair for the benefit of a child who has none of 
the advantages which you one and all possess. Evelyn 
Percival, as the head girl of the school, and as my 
special friend and right hand, will hold the first stall at 
the Fancy Fair; this, of course, is her due — but, that 
every justice should be done, I wish you all, girls, now 
to acknowledge that the first thought of the fair was 
due to Janet. Shall we cheer her?” 

A chorus of applause followed the head mistress’s 
speech. Janet, in her white dress with green ribbons, 
the glistening satin badge of a prize-winner pinned on 
her breast, stood pale and slender, a little in advance of 
the other girls who had also won prizes. A brief gleam 
of triumph filled her dark, steel-blue eyes; she glanced 
at Evelyn, who, next to her, occupied the most con- 
spicuous position ; her breath came fast ; her lips 


WBV DIDN'T YOU CHEER? Y]g 

trembled. The burst of applause was delicious to 
her. 

The girls were all clapping and stamping vigorously. 
1'heir “hip, hip, hurrrah !” echoed through the large 
hall where the examinations had just been held. 

Raising her eyes suddenly, Janet perceived that 
Bridget O’Hara stood motionless. She was in front of 
a group of smaller girls; her lips were shut; neither 
hands nor feet responded to the volume of applause 
which was echoing on all sides for Janet May. 

“Now we’ll cheer our head girl,’’ said Mrs. Freeman. 
‘ We are thankful for her restoration to health, and we 
wish her long to remain an inmate of Mulberry Court. 
Now, girls, with all your might, three cheers for Evelyn 
Percival, the school favorite!’’ 

The burst of applause was deafening; the old roof 
rang with the exultant young voices. Evelyn, in her 
turn, proposed some cheers for the head mistress and 
the other teachers, after which the school broke up. 

“Why didn’t you cheer Janet May, Biddy?’’ asked 
Violet, when the girls were streaming out of the hall. 
“I noticed that you didn’t say a word, and that you 
neither clapped your hands nor stamped your feet. I 
was surprised, for I thought you were so fond of her.” 

“I’m not fond of her at all,” said Bridget. “Don’t 
bother me, Vi ; I must run down novv^ to the marquee 
to see about my stall.” 

Violet’s little face looked mystified. She turned to 
say something to her chum Alice, and Bridget ran 
down the lawn to the marquee. 

The school was broken up by twelve o’clock, but the 
Fancy Fair was not to be opened until three. 

Evelyn Percival’s stall had been fully dressed the 


i8o 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


night before. It looked very lovely and inviting, and 
although Janet’s and Bridget’s stall also looked pretty, 
the stall of the head girl took the shine out of all the 
others. 

When Bridget found herself standing by the marquee 
she looked around, to find no one present but Janet. 

“I suppose you are satisfied now?” she said, giving 
Miss May a slightly contemptuous glance. “You had 
your desire; you were publicly honored and clapped 
by the whole school.” 

“Well, my dear love,” retorted Janet, who was most 
anxious to be friendly with Bridget, “don’t be vicious 
about it. I noticed that you didn’t clap me, nor cheer 
me. Why was that, cMrie? Your conduct didn’t 
look at all amiable.” 

“I was to clap you for being good and honorable. 
As I happen to know you are not at all good, and 
most frightfully dishonorable, it was impossible for me 
to join in the applause.” 

“Oh, now, my dear Bridget, if you are going to 
preach !” 

“I to preach? Certainly not! I need someone to 
preach me sermons. When are we to see Mrs. Freeman ?” 

“I told you not before this evening. Why Avill you 
worry me with that unpleasant subject? We have 
enough on our hands now in getting the fair well 
through.” 

“I wish it were over; I hate the Fancy Fair! I saw 
Miss Delicia looking at me, and Miss Dent’s eyes were 
so red, while Mrs. Freeman was talking of the good- 
ness of her girls. I never felt smaller nor meaner in 
my life. If Mrs. Freeman had known everything, you 
-would not have been standing where you were, Janet, 


FROM LADY KATHLEEM. 


iSl 

with all that false glory shining about you. I couldn’t 
have taken it, if it were me; but you didn’t seem to 
mind.” 

“Mind, dear? I like it, I assure you! I mean to 
have some more of that sort of glory before the day is 
out. Ah, and here they come ! I knew they would 
not fail us.” 

Janet’s eyes glistened with delight; she forgot all 
Biddy’s unpleasant words in the ecstasy of this mo- 
ment. Two men were seen walking across the lawn, 
each of them bearing a large hamper. They laid them 
down on the grass beside Janet and Bridget. 

‘‘These are from Lady Kathleen Peterham,” the 
foremost of the men said. ‘‘She desired that they 
should be delivered without delay to Miss Bridget 
O’Hara and Miss Janet May.” 

‘‘This is Bridget O’Hara, and I am Janet May,” ex- 
claimed Janet. 

The man touched his hat. 

‘‘That’s all right, then, miss. There are four more 
hampers to be brought along; we has ’em in a cart at 
the gate. My mate and me’ll go back and fetch ’em, 
miss; and Lady Kathleen said that one of us was to 
stay and help you to open them.” 

‘‘Yes, yes,” said Janet eagerly. ‘‘Bring the hampers 
round, please, to the back part of the marquee. We 
shall have the place quite to ourselves, for the girls do 
not think there is anything more to be done, and they 
are busy finishing their packing. Now, Biddy, Biddy, 
help me ! let us set to work. Oh, Glory and Honor, we 
shall have something more to do with you this day !” 

Janet’s delicate complexion began to flame with ex- 
citement ; her hand shook with eagerness. She fastened 


i 82 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


a large brown holland apron over her pretty white 
dress, and with the aid of one of the men, who was 
very handy and efficient, began to take out the contents 
of the hampers. 

Bridget stood aside without offering to help. Janet 
gave her one or two indignant glances, and then re- 
solved to waste no further time on her. 

The lovely things which Lady Kathleen had pur- 
chased in Paris were so varied and so dazzling that the 
home-painted fans, and the various home articles of 
beauty and art were pushed hastily out of sight, and 
the stall practically redecked. 

Lady Kathleen had evidently spared neither time nor 
money. Her magnificent contribution to the Fancy 
Fair consisted of necklets, bangles, scarfs, handker- 
chiefs, aprons, ties, every conceivable house ornament, 
gay butterflies for the hair, bewitching little Parisian 
bonnets; in short, a medley of fashion and beauty 
which intoxicated Janet out of all reason. She clapped 
her hands, and laughed aloud, and even Bridget so far 
forgot her sorrows and the gloom and disgrace which 
each moment was bringing nearer, to exclaim at the 
treasures which were taken out of the wonderful 
hampers. 

Evelyn’s really beautiful stall sank into complete in- 
significance beside the stall which was decked with the 
rare articles of beauty from the choicest Parisian shops. 
Evelyn might be head of the fair, but Lady Kathleen 
would certainly have her wish, for no one with eyes to 
see, and money in her pocket, would linger for a moment 
beside the home-decked stall when the sort of fairyland 
which Bridget’s and Janet’s stall now presented was 
waiting within a stone’s throw for their benefit. 


A^O OATE IVAS EORGOTTEN, 1S3 

Lady Katherine, remembering the wants of the chil- 
dren, had supplied endless toys and bonbon boxes. In 
short, no one was forgotten. From the youngest to 
the oldest a fairy contribution could be found on this 
wonderful stall. 

Lady Kathleen’s final act of beneficence was shown 
in her having marked an exceedingly low price on each 
of the beautiful articles. In short, a whim had seized 
her ladyship. Money was of no moment to her; she 
had spent lavishly, and gone to enormous expense. If 
every article on the stall were sold, about half the 
money she had expended would be realized, but that 
fact mattered nothing at all ; her object being not to 
benefit little Tim Donovan, but to bring honor and 
renown to her beautiful niece Bridget. 

Janet had great taste. She knew in a moment where 
to place each article to the best advantage ; she grouped 
her colors with an eye to artistic effect ; every touch 
from her deft fingers told. She was so excited and in- 
toxicated with the cheers she had received in the school, 
and now with this fulfillment of her dearest dream, 
that her natural talent arose almost to genius. Even 
Biddy could not help exclaiming with wonder at the 
results she produced. 

“Whatever you are, Janet, you’re clever!’’ she said. 
“I never saw anything more lovely than this stall; 
never, never, in all my life!” 

'‘Well,” said Janet, “if you admire it, Bridget, be 
good-natured about it. Whatever is going to happen 
in the next few hours, let us be happy while the bazaar 
is going on. Nothing can take place to disturb or 
frighten us during that time. Let us, therefore, be 
happy.” 


184 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“Lady Kathleen Peterham said, miss,” remarked one 
of the men, now approaching Janet, and touching his 
hat respectfully, “that this box was to be given most 
especial to you and the other young lady when the 
stall was decked. Lady Kathleen said you would 
know what was in it when you opened it, and she’d be 
sure to be here herself in good time for the fair. Is 
there anything more that me and my mate can do for 
you both, young ladies?” 

“No, nothing further,” said Janet, “we are much 
obliged. Please clear away the hampers and the pieces 
of paper and wool in which the different things were 
wrapped, and if you return to Lady Kathleen say that 
everything is most satisfactory.” 

Janet had assumed a slightly commanding air, which 
suited her well. The men were under the impression 
that she must be Lady Kathleen’s niece. They re- 
spectfully attended to her bidding, and, holding the 
box in her hand, she and Bridget walked round to the 
other side of the marquee. 

It was a large box, and at another time Janet would 
have been disinclined to burden herself with anything 
so heavy; but she was in too good a humor now to 
think of small inconveniences. Attached to the 
box was pinned a little note. It was directed to 
Bridget. 

“Here!” said Janet, handing it to her. “This 
is from your aunt ; you had better read it at 
once.” 

“I don’t suppose it matters,” said Biddy. 

“Of course it matters. I never saw anyone so dull 
and stupid! Shall I read it to you?” 

“If you like.” 


OUR FINERY. 185 

Janet tore the note open. Her eyes rested on the 
following words ; she read them aloud : 

Darling Biddy : 

I am told that Mrs. Freeman wishes all the stall-holders to wear 
simple white with green ribbons, but there are different degrees 
and qualities of this charming combination. I have selected some- 
thing very simple for you and your friend Miss May to wear on 
this auspicious occasion. You will find your dresses in the ac- 
companying box. I can promise that they will fit you perfectly. 

“O Biddy, Biddy!” said Janet, in excitement, ‘'was 
there ever anyone so kind as your Aunt Kathleen? 
Let us bring this box into the house at once, and look 
at our finery.” 

Even Bridget was not proof against the charms of a- 
new dress. She had a great love for gay clothing, and 
one of the small things that fretted her on the occasion 
of the Fancy Fair was having to wear a book muslin 
dress, made after a prescribed pattern, with a simple 
sash of apple-green round her waist. 

She, therefore, willingly helped Janet to convey the 
big box to the house. 

In the general excitement and disturbance the girls 
had no difficulty in conveying it unobserved to Bridg- 
et’s bedroom, where they eagerly opened it, and pulled 
out its contents. 

Lady Kathleen Peterham had been careful to obey 
Mrs. Freeman’s commands to the letter. The Parisian 
frocks were also of book muslin, and the sashes to be 
worn with them were of apple-green. But very wide 
was the difference between the dresses made by a 
home dressmaker at Mulberry Court and those which 
two pairs of eager eyes now feasted on. 


i86 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Lady Kathleen was quite right when she said that 
there are many kinds of simple costumes. The quality 
of this book muslin was of the finest; the embroidery 
and lace of the most exquisite; the pufifings and frill- 
ings, the general cut and arrangements, were made in 
the newest, the most stylish and the most becoming 
fashion. There was something piquant about these 
dresses, which removed them many degrees from those 
which Evelyn Percival, Dorothy Collingwood, and the 
other girls would wear. There were white silk stockings 
for the girls’ dainty feet, and little apple-green satin 
shoes with pearl buckles and high heels for them to wear 
with the stockings; there were rows of shining green 
beads to clasp round their slender throats; and last, 
but not least, there were the cunningest and most be- 
witching little headdresses in the world to perch on 
their heads of sunny hair. 

“Let us dress quickly,’’ said Janet. “Let us slip the 
dresses on and run down to the marquee and stay there. 
Oh, what does dinner matter? no one will mind whether 
we dine or not to-day. Let us stay in the marquee 
until the fair opens; then, even if Mrs. Freeman should 
disapprove, there won’t be time for us to change. O 
Biddy, can it really be true that I am not only to wear 
this exquisite costume, but to keep it? Oh, what a 
woman your Aunt Kathleen is; she is really better 
than any fairy godmother.’’ 

Bridget laughed, and cheered up a good deal while 
she was putting on her beautiful dress. The two girls 
dressed with great expedition, and ran down to the 
marquee, where they amused themselves flitting about 
from one stall to another until half-past two. 

The fair was to open at three, and at half-past two 


IN THE SHADOW. 


187 


Mrs. Freeman, the numerous teachers belonging to the 
school, and the rest of the stall-holders streamed down 
in a body from the house. The white canvas which 
concealed the front of the tent was removed, and the 
different girls bustled to their stalls to give the finish- 
ing touches to everything. 

Bridget was feeling hungry for want of her dinner, 
but Janet was too excited and too triumphant to feel 
the pangs of healthy appetite. 

She stood a little in the shadow, a slight tremor of 
nervousness running through her, notwithstanding her 
delight. 

Mrs. Freeman was the first to enter the marquee; 
she was accompanied by Evelyn and Dorothy; they all 
walked straight up to Evelyn’s stall. It was in the 
best position, and commanded the first view as one 
entered the tent. 

Mrs. Freeman had not hitherto seen the stalls; her 
hand was drawn affectionately through Evelyn’s arm, 
she had a careless and relieved expression on her face 
which made her look years younger. As she had just 
remarked to one of the teachers : 

‘T am like a schoolgirl myself to-day. I mean to 
slip away from dull care for the next seven weeks.” 

Mrs. Freeman was a very handsome woman, and in 
her gray silk dress, and a prettily arranged black lace 
scarf over her shoulders, she presented a striking and 
impressive appearance. 

“So this is our first stall,” she exclaimed ; “very nice ; 
very nice indeed, Evelyn. I knew you had great taste, 
dear. I must now see what Janet and Bridget have 
contrived between them.” 

Janet took this opportunity to step forward. 


i88 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


The shadow caused by the interior of the tent pre- 
vented Mrs. Freeman from at once noticing the marked 
difference in her dress ; she only observed a very grace- 
ful girl, whose eyes were shining with happiness, and 
cheeks flushed with natural excitement. 

“Will it not be a good plan,” said Janet, “to have the 
side canvas removed also from the marquee. Visitors 
can then come in from both sides, and there will be no 
sun round at this angle. Bridget’s and my stall is a 
good deal in shadow ; we should like to have the side 
canvas removed.” 

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Freeman, “give your own 
directions, Janet.” 

Janet ran away, called to one of the gardeners, spoke 
to him quickly and eagerly, ran up a step ladder herself 
to show him exactly what was to be done, then, spring- 
ing to the ground, she caught hold of Bridget’s hand 
and waited with a beating heart for the result. 

What might have happened can never be known, but 
at the very moment when the side canvas dropped, and 
the full glories of the Parisian stall and the exquisitely 
dressed girls were exposed to view, a gay, high voice 
was heard in the distance, and a lady was seen tripping 
with little runs across the lawn, and advancing rapidly 
in the direction of the marquee. 

Mrs. Freeman at once went to meet this lady. Dor- 
othy, Evelyn, Frances Murray, and the many school 
teachers stood motionless, transfixed with astonish- 
ment. 

“Well, after that!” said Dolly at last, “are there 
fairies alive? Janet, I think you are bewitched; what 
a stall !” 

“I never saw anything so beautiful in my life,” 


A yVASTV, A/EA.V TRICK. • 189 

said Evelyn; ‘only I think I ought to have been 
told.” 

“Its a nasty, mean trick!” said Frances Murray, 
“and I for one am not going to be dazzled. It’s en- 
chantment, but it’s not going to overcome me.” She 
turned away as she spoke ; she realized the meaning of 
the whole thing more quickly than the other two girls. 

‘‘Janet, come here,” said Evelyn, running up to her, 
and pulling her forward. “You are dressed in white 
muslin and green ribbons, but — O Dolly! look at these 
girls’ dresses. There is nothing whatever for us to do 
but to hide our diminished heads.” 

‘‘Not a bit of it !” said Dorothy in a stout voice. 
She turned away; her cheeks were flushed with anger; 
she had never felt in a greater passion in her life. 

‘‘It’s a trick to humiliate you, Eva,” she said in a 
whisper. “I might have guessed that Janet would 
have been up to something; she never wanted you to 
have anything to do with the fair. You would not 
have been asked to join at all but for Mrs. Freeman’s 
command, and now she has invented this way to spite 
us both. I am not going to be cowed, of course ; but I 
never felt so plain and dowdy in my life. I see now 
why she has taken up with that wretched little Bndget. 
Oh, why did we clap Janet in the hall just now?” 

‘‘Never mind, dear,” said Evelyn. ‘‘It does not 
really matter, of course, whose stall is first. In my 
heart I never in the least cared to take a prominent 
place in the bazaar. It was just Mrs. Freeman’s wish.” 

‘‘Just Mrs. Freeman’s wish!” echoed Dorothy. “It 
was your right, Evelyn ; you know that perfectly well.” 

“Well, darling, my rights have been taken from me; 
not that it matters in the very least. Please don’t 


190 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


think that I am angry. Don’t let us seem sorry, 
Dolly ; let us resign ourselves to the second position 
with a good grace.” 

“Never!” said Dorothy, stamping her foot. “This 
is the first stall and you ar€ at the head of the fair, 
whether people buy from us or not. What-is that you 
are saying, Janet? I don’t want to listen to you.” 

“Only,” said Janet, “you must not suppose this is my 
fault. I heard you two muttering together, and I sup- 
pose you feel vexed that Bridget’s and my stall should 
be more beautiful than yours. If anyone is to blame in 
the matter, it’s Lady Kathleen Peterham. She said 
the other day she would give us a contribution from 
Paris. It arrived this morning. How could we possi- 
bly tell that it would be so large and magnificent?” 

“And I suppose she sent you those dressses, too?” 

“She did, quite unsolicited. Don’t you admire 
them?’ 

“Go away! I don’t want to speak to you!” 

“You are making poor Bridget quite unhappy, Dor- 
othy. Biddy, never mind, dear; we will both do our 
utmost to keep in the shade, and, of course, our stall is 
the second one, not the first. Whoever thought of its 
being anything else?” 

Janet turned away as she spoke. The rest of the 
children were now pouring down from the house, and 
more and more guests were arriving each moment. 
Lady Kathleen, after keeping Mrs. Freeman talking 
outside, until the very last instant, now rushed in to 
survey the premises. 

“Ah, my love!” she exclaimed, running up to her 
niece ; “you do look charming! I knew that cut about 
the shoulders, and that arrangement of sleeve would 


EN TH USIA S TIC B U YERS. 1 9 1 

suit you, Bridget. Come here, my treasure, and let me 
look at you, and little May, too ; sweet, dear little May- 
flower. My darling, let me whisper to you, you look 
most recherch^e — recherchde^ yes, that is quite the word. 
Dear loves, your stall does us three immense credit, 
does it not? Who talks of anyone else being first 
now — eh, little Mayflower, eh?” 

Janet laughed, flushed, and tripped about. Bridget 
threw her arms round Lady Kathleen, and gave her a 
hug. Her presence slightly cheered her. The bazaar 
now really began, and Janet’s tact during the long 
hours of hard work which followed never deserted her. 

If Mrs. Freeman were angry she had no opportunity 
of showing her feelings; neither Bridget nor Janet saw 
anything of Dolly and Evelyn ; they were surrounded 
by a stream of eager, worshiping, excited, enthusiastic 
buyers. The dense mob which surrounded this one 
stall seemed never for a moment to lighten. The girls 
worked with a will, and money dropped into their 
boxes unceasingly. 

Once Janet could not resist raising herself on tiptoe, 
and then springing on an empty box, to see how Dol- 
ly’s and Evelyn’s stall was faring. 

Two or three sensible old ladies were calml}^ scruti- 
nizing some well-made children’s frocks and pinafores; 
no one else seemed to be buying; Dorothy and Evelyn 
did not look at all overworked. Turning her head in 
another direction Janet saw that even the refreshment 
stall was in nothing like the favor that her own stall 
was in. It was not only the very beautiful things to be 
purchased, but the young stall-holders were so piquant. 
One of them was so strikingly beautiful, and both pre- 
sented such an altogether uncommon appearance, that 


192 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


people pressed forward to obtain a sight of them, and 
to wonder who they could be. 

Finding that the work was too much even for the 
two indefatigable young sellers, Lady Kathleen herself 
at last donned a green ribbon badge, and tying on an 
apron, stepped behind the counter to help the sale. 
'Her good nature, her fun, her quick repartees, made her 
even a greater favorite than the two girls. The excite- 
ment rose now fast and furious. Never, in short, had 
there been a greater success than Bridget O’Hara’s stall. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

STILL IN THE WOOD. 

But in the midst of all the fun Janet’s heart was 
not easy. 

Last night she had managed very cleverly to induce 
Miss Delicia to keep silence. She felt as she worked 
hard at the Fancy Fair, as she made bargains with 
customers, and laughed and joked and looked the very 
personification of light-heartedness and gayety, that 
she must set her wits to work again to-night. Miss 
Delicia had only promised to keep silence until the fair 
was over; but Janet was determined that, come what 
would, Bridget should leave school before Mrs. Free- 
man knew of her delinquencies. 

People were already beginning to depart, when Janet 
stole up to Lady Kathleen, who was standing in the 
shade fanning herself with a huge fan. 

“Oh, my darling, what a success the whole thing has 
been,” said that good lady. “Aren’t you proud, my 
little Mayflower, of having won the day? I fear the 
head girl of the school was simply nowhere on this, 
occasion. I am really sorry for her, poor girl. I saw a 
dowdy, pale-faced, uncouth-looking creature standing 
by an equally dowdy stall at the other end of the 
marquee. Is she the school favorite — the school queen^ 
my love?” 

“Yes,” said Janet, in a low voice; “but please don’t 


193 


t94 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


speak against her, she is a very dear, very sweet girl. 
I really felt sorry for her and her friend Dolly Colling- 
wood to-day." 

“Dolly Collingwood was, I presume, that stout, 
bouncing looking young person with the red cheeks. I 
thought she looked very cross. It’s sweet of you, May- 
flower, to stand up for them both ; but if you think that 
I could allow Bridget O’Hara, my niece, to be overshad- 
owed by girls of that sort, you are pretty well mistaken. 
Thank goodness, the whole affair has gone off splen- 
didly. You look a little tired, Mayblossom, but very,, 
very sweet. Your dress is most becoming. I am so 
delighted to find that the new way of puffing the dra- 
pery over the shoulders suits a little mignonne thing like 
you. As to Bridget, she is a radiant creature — some- 
thing like the sun in his strength. You, my dear, re- 
semble the pale m6on ; but don’t be vexed, chdrie, the 
moon, too, is very lovely.’’ 

“I want to speak to you,’’ said Janet, laying her small 
hand on the great lady’s sleeve. “No, of course, I am 
not the least bit vexed. How could I be vexed with 
anything you do? You are quite the kindest friend 
I have ever come across ; but I want to talk to you 
about Bridget.’’ 

“Mercy, child, how solemn you look! What about 
my lovely girl?’’ 

“It is just this : I don’t think she is well. She has a 
great color in her cheeks, it is true, and her eyes shine ; 
but she has eaten nothing all day, and just now when I 
touched her hand it burned. I am sure she is feverish, 
and over-excited. I wish, Lady Kathleen — I do wish, 
most earnestly — that you would take her from the 
school to-night.’’ 


I HAPPEN TO KNOW. 


195 


“To-night!” said Lady Kathleen; *‘you quite alarm 
me, Janet May. If Biddy is going to be ill there’ll be 
a frightful to do. Why, she’s the only descendant we 
have any of us got; positively the last of the family; 
the apple of her old father’s eye, the core of my heart. 
Oh, my colleen, let me get to her at once!” 

“Please, please,” said Janet, “will you let me speak 
to you?” 

“Yes, you dear little anxious creature, I will. Why, 
there are positively tears in your eyes! I never saw 
anyone so tender-hearted. Oh, bother that Fancy Fair, 
I am sick to death of it ! Let us walk here in the 
shade. Now, my dear love, what is it?” 

“I happen to know,” said Janet, “that Bridget is per- 
plexed and unhappy ; she has taken some morbid views 
with regard to certain matters, and her illness of body 
is really caused by the unrestful state of her mind. It 
would be very bad for her if anyone noticed that she 
were not well, but if anyone with tact — like yourself, 
for instance. Lady Kathleen — were to take her right 
away from the school to-night, she would probably get 
quite well at once. I cannot reveal to you what is 
worrying her, and I must beg of you not to allude to 
the subject to her. In many ways she is a most un- 
common girl, and she is new to the sort of things that 
go on here. She is quite morbid, poor dear, because 
she has not got up higher in her classes, and has not 
won a prize; but it would never do to mention this to 
her. Only, Lady Kathleen, please, please, take her 
away to-night.” 

“I will,” said Lady Kathleen; “I most undoubtedly 
will. Mum’s the word with regard to the reason, of 
course; but out of this Biddy goes to-day, whatever 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


196 

happens. I don’t stir until she goes with me. But 
there’s just one thing more, my sweet little Janet. 
When are you going away? where are you going to 
spend your holidays?” 

Janet’s eyes drooped. 

“I — I don’t quite know,” she said. 

“But I do, my darling. I would not part Biddy 
from such a tender-hearted, affectionate little friend as 
you are for the world. If Biddy and I leave Mulberry 
Court to-night, you leave it to-morrow; and I know 
where you are going to spend your holidays; at Castle 
Mahun, in dear old Ireland, with Biddy and her father 
and me. You’ll like that, won’t you, sweet Mayflower?” 

”But I — I am a poor girl,” said Janet, coloring. 

Lady Kathleen placed her hand across Janet’s lips. 

“Not another word,” she said; “you are my guest, 
and I pay for everything. Now, run along, dear, and 
help Biddy with her packing, you had better not mind 
the bazaar any more. I’ll go and tell her that I am 
going to take her away with me this evening.” 

Janet ran off with a beating heart. 

She saw daylight in the distance, but she also knew 
that she was by no means yet out of the wood. Miss 
Delicia was the most good-natured of women, but she 
was also not without a strong sense of justice ; and even 
if Miss Delicia could have been induced to keep silence, 
there was Miss Dent, the English teacher, to be consid- 
ered. Miss Dent looked fierce and uncomfortable all 
day. An angry glitter had shone in her eyes when- 
ever she turned them in Bridget’s direction ; this Janet 
had not failed to observe. Yes, it was all very well to 
get Bridget away that evening, and to go with her her- 
self; but she might as well spare all her pains if before 


A BIT OF LUCK. 


197 


they left Mulberry Court Miss Delicia had an oppor- 
tunity of telling her story to Mrs. Freeman. 

As Janet was running to the house she met the post 
boy ; he handed her the bag, which happened to be un- 
locked. In the confusion of the morning the key had 
got mislaid. Janet took it from him, and, opening it, 
looked eagerly at its contents. There were only two 
letters; one for herself, the other, in deep mourning, 
addressed to Mrs. Freeman. The moment Janet saw 
this letter she knew what it contained ; she also knew 
that here was an open way out of her difficulty. Mrs. 
Freeman had a first cousin in Liverpool, who was very, 
very ill. She was intensely attached to this cousin, 
whose husband wrote to her almost daily with regard 
to her health. Janet had often seen the letters, and 
knew the handwriting. Now, when she saw the black- 
edged letter with the Liverpool postmark on it, she 
guessed at once that Mrs. Freeman’s favorite cousin 
was dead. 

“I know what I’ll do,” said Janet to herself; ‘T’ll 
take this letter to Miss Delicia ; I’ll tell her how I came 
by it, and beg of her not to let Mrs. Freeman see it 
until the worries of the day are over. Miss Delicia will 
be so pleased with me for this thoughtfulness that, 
perhaps, she will agree that it is best not to worry Mrs, 
Freeman about Bridget’s naughtiness; at any rate, to- 
night. This is a bit of luck for nae! I’ll go and find 
Miss Delicia at once.” 

It was not easy to discover that most good-natured, 
bustling, and obliging little woman. Her movements 
were so quick, her anxiety to make everyone happy so 
intense, that she had almost the faculty of being in 
several places at the same time. 


198 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


After several minutes’ active search, Janet found her 
in one of the attics, cording a schoolgirl’s trunk herself. 

“Oh, my dear, what is it?’’ she said, when the girl 
entered. “How pretty you look in that stylish frock, 
Janet! I know Henrietta will scold you for wearing it, 
but I must own that it is becoming. I am to see my 
sister on that other unpleasant matter about seven 
o’clock. Now, what is wrong, my dear?’’ 

“I— I have brought you this,” said Janet, her face 
turning pale, and her voice trembling. “I — I am very 
sorry, but I thought perhaps you would rather Mrs. 
Freeman did not have this letter just at present; it 
came in the post bag, which was unlocked. The post 
boy gave me the bag, and I looked in. There were 
only two letters, one for me, and this; I — forgive me. 
Miss Delicia; it has the Liverpool postmark.” 

“Good gracious!” said Miss Delicia, “a black-edged 
letter, and from Liverpool; then it is all over; poor 
Susan is gone. The will of the Lord be done, of 
course, but this will be a sore blow to Henrietta.” 

“I — I thought you’d keep it, and give it to her by 
and by,” said Janet. 

“Thank you, my dear; very thoughtful of you ; very 
thoughtful, but I think she must receive it at once, for 
she will probably wish to go to Liverpool to-night. 
Poor Susan’s husband will — will want her. Oh, this is 
very, very sad ; my dear, loving sister, what a blow I 
shall have to deal to you !” 

“You,” said Janet; she came up and laid her hand 
on Miss Delicia’s arm; her face turned ashy white, so 
much depended on this moment ; “you — you won’t tell 
about — about Bridget, at the same time,” she gasped. 
Miss Delicia stared back at Janet in amazement, 


ARE YOU ILL? 


199 


“Of course not !” she said. “Who could be so heart- 
less as to worry Henrietta about school matters at a 
moment like this?” 

“You won’t tell Miss Patience, either?” 

“I shall, probably, say nothing until Henrietta re- 
turns to the Court. How queer you look, Janet; are 
you ill?” 

“No, no, I am very well indeed,” said Janet. She 
bent forward and kissed Miss Delicia on her forehead, 
and then ran out of the room. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


PERSIAN CATS. 

Lady Kathleen Peterham had not much diffi- 
culty in inducing Bridget to return with her to East- 
cliff. The young girl was in a state of intense nervous 
excitement. She was making up her mind to face dis- 
grace. All through the triumph and supposed pleasure 
of the Fancy Fair she kept seeing the indignant face of 
Mrs. Freeman when she heard of the wicked trick which 
she and Janet had played upon her. She saw her Aunt 
Kathleen with her shocked, incredulous, unbelieving 
expression ; and last, but not least, she saw her gray- 
headed old father when the news reached him that the 
last of the O’Haras — the very last of all the race — had 
stooped to dishonor. 

These thoughts took away Biddy’s enjoyment. She 
became so wretched at last that she almost wished for 
the crucial hour to be over. 

Janet came up to her as the last of the guests were 
departing. 

‘Tt’s all right,” she whispered. ”I have not time to 
explain matters now, but you have nothing whatever to 
fear. Leave things in my hands, and don’t be ner- 
vous, for I assure you everything will be as right as 
possible.” 

Bridget had no time to ask Janet to explain her 
3trange words, for the next moment she had turned 


90Q 


/ //AP^E A HEADACHE. 


26 t 


away to say something with eagerness to Lady Kath- 
leen. 

Lady Kathleen nodded, and looked intensely wise 
and affectionate. 

An hour later Bridget found herself driving away 
from Mulberry Court, her last frantic endeavors to see 
Mrs. Freeman by herself having proved utterly fruit- 
less. 

“I can’t make out what’s the matter with you, Biddy !” 
said her aunt. “Why are you flushing one moment and 
growing pale the next? I hope to goodness you 
haven’t caught anything. You look quite feverish.’’ 

“Oh, I’m all right, Aunt Kathie!’’ said Bridget. 
“Please don’t worry about my looks; they don’t sig- 
nify in the least.’’ 

“Your looks don.’t signify, Bridget? That’s a strange 
thing to say to me, who was born a Desborough. You 
are a Desborough yourself, Bridget, on your poor moth- 
er’s side, and have we not been celebrated for our 
beauty through a long line of distinguished ancestors? 
Never let me hear that kind of nonsense fall again from 
your lips, Biddy. Heaven-born beauty is a gift which 
ought not to be lightly regarded.’’ 

“I have a headache, then,’’ said Bridget. “I suppose 
I needn’t talk if I don’t want to?’’ 

“Of course you needn’t, pet ; and when we go back 
.to the hotel you shall go straight to bed. Oh, how 
pleased your father will be when we get back to the 
Castle!’’ 

In reply to this speech Bridget burst into a sudden 
flood of tears. 

“I can’t bear it !’’ she sobbed. “Oh, Aunt Kathie, I 
have been so naughty ! I wanted to see Mrs. Freeman 


202 BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 

to tell her everything; but she had just had some bad 
news, and no one would let me go near her. Oh, I 
am so miserable! I do hate school most dreadfully. 
Aunt Kathie, you wouldn’t love me if you knew what 
a bad girl I have been.” 

“Now, my pet, that is nonsense. I’d just love you 
through everything. I suppose you have got into a 
little school scrape? Bless you, Biddy, all the girls do 
that. Now dry your eyes, and let us think no more 
about trifles of that sort. Here we are at the hotel, and 
your holidays have begun. I promise you, you’ll never 
have gayer ones. I have a nice little surprise in store 
for you, but you are not going to get it out of me to- 
night.” 

Bridget did not betray any inordinate curiosity with 
regard to her aunt’s surprise. She cheered up a little, 
and after a slight supper retired to bed. 

In the meantime, Janet May was in her own room at 
the Court, busily concluding her packing. 

The girl who shared her room with her had left 
that evening. Janet, therefore, had the apartment to 
herself. 

Two letters had come by that evening’s post; one 
which brought to her at least some days of respite, for 
she was now quite sure that nothing further would be 
done with regard to Miss Dent’s discovery for a week 
or ten days. It was even possible that the thing might 
remain in abeyance until the school reassembled. 

In any case Janet had now time to breathe. 

Two letters had, however, come by the post, and 
while one gave her relief, the other added to her per- 
plexities. 

The other letter was from her sister Sophy. 


VERY EASILY. 


^03 

Dear Janet [this sister had written] I am waiting anxiously for 
the moment when the post will bring me your letter with a couple of 
pounds in it. I simply cannot do without it, as Miss Simpkins has 
turned me out of doors. I am writing from a little stationer’s shop 
quite close, and I have bribed Annie, the housemaid, to bring me 
your letter the instant it comes. I have exactly one shilling in my 
pocket, so you may suppose that I am brought to a low ebb. Miss 
Simpkins is the very crossest old cat that ever breathed, and I 
could not help giving her cheek this morning, so she turned me out, 
and refused to pay me my week’s salary. It isn’t worth fighting 
with her, and, of course, I am willing to admit that there were 
faults on both sides, The stationer’s wife will give me a bed to- 
night, but what ant I to do afterward } Of course, the money will 
come from you, you dear, and then I shall immediately start for 
Margate, and look for you to meet me there. Mrs. Dove, the 
stationer’s wife, knows of a nice little room, which we could share 
together, for ten shillings a week — that is dirt cheap, as you must 
know. The address is Mrs. Dove’s, 9 Water Street, South Parade. 
It’s a top room — I suppose that means an attic ; but, never mind ; 
as Mrs. Dove says, “ the higher up you are, the better the air.” 

Your devoted sister, 

Sophy. 

P. S. — Oh, you cruel, cruel Janet! You heartless monster! 
The post has come and your letter, and no inclosnre. Mrs. Dove 
will let me sleep here to-night — sHe is a kind soul ; but, remember, 
I have only got one shilling in the world, and I vow I will never 
ask Aunt Jane to help me. 

Very early the next morning Janet rose, and going 
downstairs met one of the servants in the hall. 

“-I’m going to walk to Eastcliff,” she said. “I have 
got all my boxes packed and directed. They are to be 
sent by the carrier to-day to the railway station, where 
they are to be left for me until I send further orders. 
They will be put into the booking office of course.” 

“Very well, miss,” said the servant, “but you’ll want 
some breakfast of course.” 


204 


BASHFUL FIBTEEH. 


“No, no, I am in a great hurry; I can’t possibly wait/’ 

“Have you seen Miss Delicia, Miss May?’’ 

“It’s all right,” repeated Janet, not heeding this re- 
mark. She walked through the hall as she spoke, 
opened the door herself, and let herself out. 

She was neatly dressed in pale gray alpaca ; her little 
sailor hat, with a plain band of white ribbon round it, 
looked neat and girlish ; she carried a thin dust cloak 
On her arm. 

No one could look nicer or sweeter than Janet. She 
had a sort of good heroine air about her, and this fact 
struck Lady Kathleen Peterham most forcibly when 
about eight o’clock that morning the young lady was 
admitted into her bedroom. 

Lady Kathleen was not an early riser. 

She was, indeed, sound asleep when her maid 
brought her a little note on a silver salver. The note 
contained a few piteous lines from Janet. 

lam in great trouble and perplexity [she wrote] ; will you see 
me for one minute? 

“The little dear, of course I’ll see her,” said Lady 
Kathleen. She had herself arrayed in a rose-colored 
silk dressing gown, and was sitting up in the shaded 
light when Janet tripped into the room. 

“Oh, how kind of you to let me come,” said the girl. 

“My love,” said Lady Kathleen, “I was expecting 
you between ten and eleven. I have not broken the 
news of our charming arrangement yet to Biddy ; I 
know well how delighted she’ll be when I do tell her. 
Why have you come so early, little Mayflower, and 
what is all this trouble aboui? You look very nice, my 
love, notwithstanding your perplexities.” 


/ AM VERY ANXIOUS. 


205 


“I am very anxious,” said Janet; and then she pro- 
ceeded to tell a long and pathetic story about Sophy; 
Sophy was so pretty, but also so willful; she was older 
than Janet, but she also leaned upon her. She had just 
been turned out of her situation owing to the cruelty of 
her employer, and — and — of course Janet could not go 
to Ireland and leave her dear older sister in such a 
plight ; she had saved a few shillings, and she was going 
to take the very next train to Bristol to see her. 

The words that Janet hoped Lady Kathleen would 
utter fell at once from the good lady’s lips. “My dar- 
ling,” she said, “you and this naughty, pretty little sis- 
ter of yours shall both come to Castle Mahun. My 
brother-in-law, dear fellow, will give you the best of 
Irish welcomes ; of course he will, you sweet little brave 
soul; why it’s a heroine you are, and no mistake.” 

Janet replied in a very humble and pretty manner to 
these gratifying words of praise, and soon a plan which 
she had already sketched out in her own mind was 
proposed to her by Lady Kathleen. 

“You and your sister can cross over from Bristol to 
Cork,” she said. “From there it is only a short dis- 
tance to Castle Mahun. Biddy and I will start for 
home to-day, and we’ll expect you in a day or two 
after. Oh, my dear, you want a little money ; I know 
you’re poor, darling, and I am rich, so where are the 
odds? It’s no worry to me, but a pleasure to help you. 
Give me your address in Bristol, and I’ll send you a 
postal order before Biddy and I leave Eastcliff to-day.” 

Janet’s eyes fell, and her heart sank a trifle. 

It would have been so much nicer to have got the 
money now; she did not want to spend Biddy’s two 
pounds if she could help it. Her intention, indeed, had 


2o6 


BASHFUL FIFTEEH. 


been to get a postal order to send off to Pat Donovan 
before she left Eastcliff, but Lady Kathleen, who had 
risen to all Janet’s other suggestions, failed her in this. 

There was no help for it, therefore, she must spend 
part of the two pounds in taking her railway ticket to 
Bristol, and could only trust that Biddy would never 
hear of the non-reception of her gift. 

Janet bade Lady Kathleen an affectionate good-by 
and tripped off on her errand of sisterly mercy. 

She sent a telegram to Sophy, and found her 
standing on the platform at Bristol waiting to receive 
her. 

Sopyh was smaller than Janet, a plump, softly 
rounded little person, with wide-open eyes of heavenly 
blue, rosebud lips, and masses of shining golden hair. 
At the first glance people as a rule fell in love with 
Sophy; how long they continued in this state of devo- 
tion was quite another matter, but the impression she 
made with those large-eyed innocent glances was always 
favorable, and served her in good stead as she fought 
her way through the world. 

She was not nearly as clever as Janet, but that very 
fact added to her charms, for she had a way of confiding 
her troubles, of looking pathetic and asking such touch- 
ingly simple questions with regard to her future that, 
unless the person she addressed was very suspicious 
indeed, the little good-humored pretty creature was 
taken at once to the heart of her sympathizer. 

“Oh, here you are, Janey,’’ she exclaimed, rushing 
up to her sister now and clasping a* plump little hand 
affectionately through her arm. 

She was really fond of Janet, and Janet really cared 
for her, but as the two were perfectly open with each 


THE SISTERS. 


other it was unnecessary in Janet's opinion to waste 
time in sentiment. 

“Yes, I have come," she said, “and very troublesome 
it is to me to have to come. Why couldn’t you keep 
your situation, Sophy?" 

“Oh, my darling," exclaimed Sophy, “if you had 
been me! you don’t know — you can’t possibly know 
what Miss Simpkins is like. She is full of the most 
awful fads, and she fusses so about the cats. There 
were four cats when I first went to her, and now there 
are six, all Persians, and every one of them affected with 
the most terrible bronchitis. They have to be doc- 
tored and medicined and their hair combed out, and 
watched like any number of babies. I do think, Janey, 
I really do think that I might have a higher vocation 
in life than looking after Persian cats." 

“That’s stuff," said Janet. “Don’t you prefer 
looking after Persian cats to living with Aunt 
Jane?" 

“I am not quite sure, Janet." 

“But I am!" said Janet, favoring her sister with a 
quick, angry glance. “I wouldn’t eat the bread of de- 
pendence for anybody ; but now let’s come back to 
Mrs. Dove’s and have a talk.’’ 

“Is there any money, Janey?" whispered Sophy, in 
an appealing tone. “I told you that I had only a shil- 
ling, and it is absolutely true. I ought to pay some- 
thing for my bed, and she gave me some tea and a nice 
new laid egg, lightly boiled, for breakfast. If I pay her 
the whole shilling it will be cheap; very cheap, for 
what she has done for me. I do trust and hope you 
have brought a little money with you, Janet!" 

“I have brought a little. It was very hardly come 


2o8 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


by, I can tell you, and will have to go a tremendous 
long way. I may get into an awful scrape about that 
money, and I really don’t see why I should run such 
risks for your sake.” 

“O Janey, Janey, and you know I’d do anything in 
the world for you.” 

Sophy’s lovely eyes slowly filled with tears. Janet 
gave her a quick half-contemptuous, half-affectionate 
glance. 

“There,” she said, “you needn’t fret; I daresay 
everything will be all right, and I have something very 
jolly to tell you in a minute or two. Only let us get 
to your lodgings first, for we can’t talk comfortably in 
this noisy street.” 

The girls presently reached the poky little house « 
where Sophy had spent her night. They went up at 
once to a tiny room with a sloping roof, and there Janet 
proceeded to administer a very sound lecture to her 
sister. 

“I have something unpleasant to talk about before I 
say anything nice,” she began. “You must first hear 
me out, whether you like it or not, for if you cry until 
your eyes are sunk into your head it won’t make the 
least bit of difference to me. Speak I will, for it is for 
your good and mine.” 

No one could cry more copiously than Sophy on oc- 
casions, but she also had a certain power of self-control. 

If her tears could effect no object there was not the 
least use in her spoiling her pretty eyes, so she sat very 
still now on the edge of the small hard bed, and gazed 
at Janet, who sat opposite to her on a cane-bottomed 
chair. 

“The first thing to be done is this,” said Janet; “I 




/ WON'T GO. 


209 


must see Miss Simpkins, and ask her if she will take 
you back after the holidays are over.” 

“I won’t go!” said Sophy, clenching her fist. 

“That is nonsense, Sophy ; you will either have to go 
to Miss Simpkins or to Aunt Jane. Aunt Jane will half 
starve you, and give you no money at all; Miss Simp- 
kins will feed you well — I know she does that, or you’d 
be sure to tell me the contrary — then Miss Simpkins 
gives you fifteen pounds a year. That being the case, 
there is no choice at all between the two posts. Miss 
Simpkins’s, notwithstanding the Persian cats, is much 
the best place for you to live at.” 

“Oh, you don’t know,” said Sophy; “it’s the most 
horrid life. Besides, she wouldn’t have me again ; I 
know she wouldn’t. We were both frightfully imperti- 
nent to each other. We were like two cats ourselves. 
Miss Simpkins was the old tabby, and I was the angry, 
snarling kitten. I have claws, you know, Janet, al- 
though I do look so velvety.” 

“I know perfectly well that you have claws, my dear, 
but you must keep them sheathed. As to going back 
to Miss Simpkins, I shall see her myself, and I am sure 
I can manage that part. You have got to come with 
me there after we have finished our present conversa- 
tion, and you have got to beg her pardon in the most 
humble and proper fashion.” 

“I really don’t know how I am to do it, Janey.” 

“But I do, love; you must just lean on me, and do 
exactly what I advise ; it won’t be for the first time.” 

“I know that,” said poor Sophy, “and you are three 
years younger than me, and all. I didn’t think you’d 
be such an awful tyant ; it seems rather hard to bear 
from one’s younger sister.” 


210 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“But I am older in mind, darling.” 

“Yes, yes, and much cleverer; but after all a worm 
ivill turn. Suppose I refuse to go back to Miss Simp- 
kins?” 

“Then, my love, I will try and screw together suffi- 
cient money to send you back third class to Aunt 
Jane’s.” 

“Oh, I can’t; I won’t do that; it would be too hor- 
rible !” 

“Listen to me, Sophy. I always said I would help 
you. You are very pretty, but you are not clever. 
You have not been educated up to the required stand- 
ard; you have no chance whatever of getting a situa- 
tion as governess. In these days it is the most difficult 
thing in the world for lady-girls who are not educated, 
and have not got special talents, to find anything at all 
to do. You are in great luck in getting this situation 
as companion, and I am absolutely determined that you 
shall not lose it. In two years’ time I shall have left 
school. My object then is to get a good situation as 
English and musical teacher in one of the high schools. 
When I have got such a post, I may want you to live 
with me, Sophy, as housekeeper; there is no saying. 
You would like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Oh, shouldn’t I ! What larks we’d have.” 

“Yes, we’d have a jolly time together; but there’s 
not the least use in thinking about it if you don’t do 
w'hat I tell you now. Put your hat on straight, Sophy, 
and don’t let your hair look quite so wild and fluffy, 
and we will go across to Miss Simpkins’s without delay. 
I have a very jolly plan to propose to you after you 
have made your peace with the old lady and the 
Persian cats, but not even a hint wdth regard to it 


VLL MANAGE THAT. 


211 


shall drop from my lips until you have been a good 
girl.” 

“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” said Sophy, “I don’t know how 
I am ever to face the old tabby cat again.” 

“That’s a very improper way to speak of your em- 
ployer, and I’m not going to laugh. Come; are you 
ready?” 

“I wish you weren’t such a Solon, Janet.” 

“It is well I have got some brains; I don’t know 
where you and I would be if I hadn’t. Now, come 
along.” 

“But I am not to go back and live with her to- 
day?” 

“No, no. I’ll manage that ; you shall have your bit of 
fun first, poor Sophy. Now come at once, we have 
not a moment of time to lose.” 

Sophy straightened her hat very unwillingly, brushed 
back her disordered locks with considerable rebellion in 
each movement, but finally followed Janet down into 
the street and across the narrow road into the fashion- 
able locality where Miss Simpkins and the Persian cats 
resided. 

Miss Simpkins lived in a small house, which was kept 
scrupulously clean and bright. There were flower boxes 
in all the windows, and the shining brass knocker and ^j 
handles of the door reflected the faces of the two girls 
like mirrors. 

A neat but severe-looking servant answered Janet’s 
rather determined ring. She scowled at Sophy, but 
replied civilly to Janet’s inquiry if Miss Simpkins was 
at home. 

“Yes, miss,” she replied; “my missus is in her morn- 
ing room, very particularly occupied,” 


212 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“I should like to see her for a few minutes,” said 
Janet. 

“I am afraid, miss, that if you have come on behalf 
of that young lady, the late companion, that you may 
spare yourself the trouble, for the missus won’t have 
nothing to say to her nor her belongings.” 

“I have come on that business,” said Janet. “I am 
much shocked at what has occurred, and have come to 
offer apologies. My sister. Miss May, has behaved 
with great indiscretion.” 

Poor Sophy gasped. 

Janet did not pay the smallest heed to Sophy’s indig- 
nant expression. Her smooth young face looked full 
of shocked virtue. It impressed the servant, who 
nodded back a sympathetic reply, and telling the girls 
to wait a minute, walked sedately across the hall and 
into the morning room. 

She returned in a few moments with the information 
that Miss Simpkins would see the younger of the 
young ladies. 

“I can put you. Miss May,” she said, turning to 
Sophy, “into the hall room while the other young lady 
talks to my missus.” 

“Yes, Sophy, go there and wait,” said Janet; and 
Sophy went. 

Janet tripped lightly across the tiled hall. 

The servant opened the door of the morning room 
and then turned to inquire the young lady’s name. 

“Miss Janet May,” was the response. 

“Miss Janet May!” shouted the servant, and Janet 
found the door closed behind her. 

A severe looking woman, primly dressed, was seated 
by a rovind mahogany table. In the center of the table 


BEAUTIFUL L> A FLINGS. 


213 


sat a snow-white and very beautiful Persian cat ; a dark 
tabby of the same species was lapping a saucer of milk 
also on the table ; some Persian kittens gamboled 
about the room. Miss Simpkins was bending over the 
tabby. She raised her eyes now and murmured, half to 
herself, half to Janet, “She has taken exactly a tenth of 
a pint of milk ! That is a great improvement on yes- 
terday.” 

“I am sure of it,” said Janet, entering into the spirit 
of the thing without a moment’s delay; “and what an 
exquisite cat ! and oh ! what a beauty that white one 
is! I do admire Persian cats!” 

“Do you, my dear?” said the old lady. “This cat — 
Cherry Ripe I call her — has won several prizes at the 
Crystal Palace. This tabby — his name is Pompey — 
will also, I expect, be a prize-wdnner. These two kit- 
tens that you see on the floor, Marcus Aurelius and 
Mark Antony, have been sent to me direct from Per- 
sia. They are most valuable animals. The Persian 
cat is a curious and remarkable creature. Don’t you 
think so? so sadly delicate! so fragilely beautiful! so 
sensitive and refined in every movement ! Breed is 
shown in each of its actions. These cats are lovely — 
almost too lovely — and yet, my dear, whatever care 
you take of them, they all suffer more or less from 
bronchitis ! they all swallow their long hairs when they 
wash themselves! and they all die young. Beautiful 
darlings! it is too touching to think of your inevitable 
fate !” 

Miss Simpkins, as she spoke, stroked the snow-white 
Persian with her long, slender fingers. 

Janet murmured some words of rapture, and the old 
lady asked her to seat herself. 


214 


BASHFUL FIFTEEH. 


The subject of Sophy was introduced in a few mo- 
ments, and here Janet showed that talent for diplomacy 
which always marked her actions. Miss Simpkins 
found, as she listened to the admirable words which 
dropped from the lips of this young girl, her anger fad- 
ing. After all, Sophy had some good points. The 
white Persian cat liked to nestle on her shoulder, and 
rub its soft head against her soft cheek. Miss Simpkins 
fancied that the cat looked melancholy since Sophy’s 
departure. In short, knowing well in her heart that she 
would find it extremely difificult to get anypne else to 
take the much-enduring Sophy’s place, she consented 
to have her back again on trial. 

“But not at once,’’ said Miss Simpkins, “for I have 
just let this house, furnished, to a friend. I don’t really 
know what your sister will do. Miss May, but Barker 
and I and the cats are quite as many as can travel com- 
fortably together. I shall be back here by the end of 
September, and will receive your sister, if she faithfully 
promises to behave herself.’’ 

These terms being quite to Janet’s satisfaction, she 
closed with Miss Simpkins’s offer, and left the house in 
Sophy’s company in high good humor. 

“Now you have behaved well, and you shall hear of 
the treat I have in store for you,’’ she said to her sister. 
“But, first of all, let us go to one of the shipping 
offices to find out at what hour the next steamer sails 
for Cork.’’ 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AN IRISH WELCOME. 


Castle Mahun was the sort of old place which can 
be met in many parts of Ireland. It consisted of almost 
innumerable acres of land, some cultivated, some wild 
and barren, and of a large, rambling, and, in parts, tum- 
ble-down house. Castle Mahun stood on rising ground 
which faced due west. The ground was beautifully 
shaped, with many gentle undulations and many steep 
and bold descents. It was thickly wooded, and some 
of these forests of almost primeval trees sloped down 
to the edge of a deep, wide lake of nearly two miles in 
length and half a mile in width. This lake was the 
pride of Castle Mahun. In sunshiny weather it looked 
blue as the sea itself ; in winter its waters became dark 
and turbid, the high waves tossed them and made them- 
selves at times as angry as if they were really influenced 
by the many currents and the tides of ocean. The lake 
had two names. The owners of the property called it 
Lake Crena, but the poor people — and they abounded 
all over the lands of Castle Mahun — spoke of it as the 
Witch’s Cauldron, and said that although it was fair 
enough, and pleasant enough to live by in summer, in 
winter it was haunted by a black witch, and woe betide 
anyone who attempted to boat on its surface or fish in 
its waters at that time of year. 

The Castle, or rather old house — for it bore little 


215 


2i6 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


pretensions to its name — hung partly over the lake. 
There were sloping lawns, badly tended, but very pic- 
turesque in appearance, running down to the waters, 
and a steep path, about three feet in width, with a 
sheer precipice at one side, and a thick, heavy belt of 
forest trees at the other, running right round the lake 
from one side of the old house. 

This was called the terrace walk, and it was here Den- 
nis O’Hara took his evening promenade, accompanied 
by the dogs. 

He was a handsome, picturesque looking man, with 
silvery white hair, very piercing dark eyes, and aquiline 
features. He had a stentorian voice, which he used to 
good effect on all those who came within his reach ; 
but he had also a kindly twinkle in those dark eyes, 
and a kindly expression round his handsome, well-cut 
lips, which kept the poor folks at Castle Mahun from 
fearing the master’s indignant bursts of strong lan- 
guage, and which made him one of the most popular 
landlords all over the country. 

To-night there was great excitement at Castle Ma- 
hun, for the banished princess, as the people chose to 
consider Bridget O’Hara, was coming home from for- 
eign parts. Bonfires were lit all along the hills in her 
welcome. O’Hara had not gone himself to the nearest 
railway station, twenty miles off, to meet his daughter, 
but he knew by the thin smoke on a distant peak that 
the jaunting car, drawn by faithful Paddy, his favorite 
chestnut horse, and driven by Larry O’Connor, was 
bearing his darling back to him as quickly as the ill- 
kept roads would permit. 

“She’s coming, masther,’’ shouted a ragged little 
urchin, dashing up to the squire, and then rushing fran- 


YOURSELF AGAIN. 


217 


tically away again; “the first fire’s built, and me and 
M )l]y can see the smoke. Oh, come along, Molly! 
and let’s run down the road to ketch a sight of her. 
Oh, glory! the darlint ! and won’t we be glad to have 
her back again.” 

The child disappeared. There were some more wild 
shouts in the distance ; a troop of children, all ragged 
and bronzed and barefooted, were seen rushing down 
the avenue, and then disappearing along the dusty 
road. They carried branches of trees and old kettle- 
drums, and made a frantic noise as they ran in the 
direction which the jaunting car would take. 

“Ah! here they are!” exclaimed Lady Kathleen 
from her seat on the car. “Here are your villagers, 
Bridget, rushing to welcome you. And do you see 
those fires lit in your honor? Watch the hills, child. 
There’s a fire on every hilltop. Now you’ll be your- 
self again.” 

Bridget’s eyes were shining like stars. She turned 
and gripped Lady Kathleen’s hand with a fierce 
embrace. 

feel nearly mad with delight!” she exclaimed. 
“Oh, I say, Larry, do drive faster. Gee-up, Paddy! 
Gee-up, old dear! Don’t you think I might take the 
reins, Larry? You can get down from your seat on the 
box, and sit here to balance Aunt Kathleen, and let 
me jump up and take the reins.” 

“To be sure, miss,” said Larry. He sprang lightly 
from his seat, and Biddy, notwithstanding Lady Kath- 
leen’s bursts of laughter and futile objections, took the 
seat of honor, and with a light, smart touch of the whip 
sent Paddy spinning at a fine rate over the roads. 

“Hurrah!” she shouted when she came in sight of 


2i8 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


the motley crowd. “Here I am back again, and driv- 
ing Paddy as if I’d never set foot off Irish soil. Wel- 
come to you all ! Good-evening, Dan ; how’s your 
lame foot? Good-evening Molly, acushla macree. 
Good-evening, good-evening, Jane and Susan and 
Norah. Now, then, let me drive quickly. I must get 
to my daddy before I touch the hands of one of you.’’ 

Bridget stood up on the driving seat, tightened the 
reins with energy, gave Paddy another well-aimed deli- 
cate stroke just where it would quicken his movements 
without irritating either his skin or his temper, and the 
laughing, shouting, joking cavalcade — for the children 
and the men and women were rushing after the car, and 
some of them even clinging on to it — turned in at the 
gates, and up the steep avenue which led to the Castle. 

“Now, then; three cheers for the old home! Let 
every one of us shout with a will !’’ exclaimed Bridget. 
“Oh, it is nice to be back again.” 

“You’ll frighten the horse, Biddy!” exclaimed Lady 
Kathleen. “I do think you have taken leave of your 
senses, child. Oh, don’t set them off shouting; Paddy 
really won’t stand it ; and at this steep part, too !” 

“Paddy is Irish,” said Bridget, with some contempt. 
“He knows what an Irish shout is worth. Now, then ! 
Three cheers — Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!” 

Bridget held the reins with one hand, the other was 
waved high in the air. She looked like a radiant, vic- 
torious young figure standing so, with the crowd of 
welcoming, delighted faces surrounding her. Her trav- 
eling hat had long ago disappeared, and her chestnut 
curls were tumbling about her face and shoulders. 

“Hip, hip, hurrah!” she shouted again. “Three 
cheers for the Castle ! Three cheers for the master ! 


THE HEART-HUNGER. 


219 

Three cheers for the dogs! Three cheers for old Ire- 
land ! and three cheers for the boys and girls who live 
at Castle Mahun!” . 

Frantic yells responded to Bridget’s eager words. 
These were intermingled by the yelping and barking of 
about a dozen dogs, who rushed on the scene, and 
jumped all over Bridget in their ecstasy, nearly drag- 
ging her from her eminence on the car. 

“Take the reins, Larry!” she exclaimed, tossing 
them to her satellite. “Now then, do get out of the 
way. Bruin! Clear out. Mustard, my pet, or I’ll tread 
on you. Now then for a spring!” 

She vaulted lightly to the ground, and the next in- 
stant was in the arms of her white-headed old father. 

“Eh, my colleen, my colleen,” he murmured. He 
pressed her to his heart ; a dimness came over his eyes 
for a minute ; his big, wrinkled hand touched her sunny 
forehead tenderly. “You have come back,” he said. 
“I have had a fine share of the heart-hunger without 
you, my girleen.” 

Bridget laid her head on his shoulder. 

“Oh, daddy,” she exclaimed, in a sort of choked 
voice, “it is too good to feel your arms about me 
again ; I am too happy.” 

“Don’t you want to see Minerva’s pups, miss?” 
asked the small and rather officious little ragged girl 
called Molly. 

“Yes, to be sure. And she has had four, the darling ; 
the dear, noble pet. Do take me to the litter at once, 
won’t you, father?” 

The mention of Minerva and her progeny was so 
intensely exciting that even sentiment was put aside, 
and the Squire, Biddy, Lady Kathleen, and all the re- 


220 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


tainers went in a motley procession to the stables, 
where the little red-tipped pups were huddled together, 
and the proud Minerva was waiting to show off their 
many beauties. 

Biddy made several appropriate observations ; not a 
point about the four little dogs was lost upon her. 
She and her father grew almost solemn in the earnest- 
ness with which they discussed the virtues and charms 
of the baby pups. 

Minerva was petted and praised ; hunger and fa- 
tigue were alike forgotten in the exciting and deli- 
cious task of examining the valuable puppies. Bridget 
knelt on the ground, regardless of her pretty and ex- 
pensive traveling dress. A pup’s short, expressive 
nose rubbed her cool cheek, Minerva’s head lay on 
her knee ; the animal’s beautiful, expressive eyes were 
raised to hers, full of maternal pride and melting love. 
Another little pup lay on the Squire’s big palm, a third 
nestled on Biddy’s shoulder; a fourth tried to yelp 
feebly as it was huddled up in Molly’s ragged apron. 

Lady Kathleen stood over the group of adorers 
laughing and ejaculating. Somebody screamed in the 
distance that supper was ready, and that a feast was 
waiting in the kitchen for all the retainers in honor of 
Miss Bridget’s return. 

There was a scamper at this; even Molly put the 
cherished pup back into its basket, and Bridget, her 
father, and aunt entered the house arm in arm. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“bruin, my dog.” 

Two days afterward Lady Kathleen called Bridget 
aside, and, linking her hand through her arm, said in 
an affectionate tone: 

“If you can spare me five minutes, Biddy, I have a 
pleasant little bit of news to give you.” 

Bridget O’Hara had resumed all the finery which had 
been more or less tabooed at school. The time was 
seven o’clock, on a summer’s evening. She had on a 
richly embroidered tea gown of pale green silk, a silver 
girdle clasped her slim waist, the long train of her 
dress floated out behind her; it was partly open in 
front, and revealed a petticoat of cream satin, heavily 
embroidered with silver. 

Strictly speaking, the dress was a great deal too old 
for so young a girl ; but it suited Biddy, whose rich and 
brilliant coloring, and whose finely formed and almost 
statuesque young figure could carry off any amount of 
fine clothing. She and Lady Kathleen were standing- 
on -the terrace walk, which looked down on the lake. 
Its waters were tranquil as glass to-night ; a few fleecy 
clouds in the sky were reflected on its bosom. A little 
boat with a white sail, which flapped aimlessly for want 
of wind to fill it, was to be seen in the distance. The 
Squire was directing the boat’s wayward course, but it 
was making its way after a somewhat shambling fashion 


221 


222 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


to the nearest landing-place. Bridget waved a hand- 
kerchief in the air. 

“Turn the boat a bit, daddy, and the sail wdll fill,” 
she shouted. “Now, then, Aunt Kathleen, what is it 
you want to say to me?” 

“If you will only attend, Biddy,” said Lady Kathleen. 
“Your thoughts are with your father, child ; he’s as safe 
as safe can be. Hasn’t he sailed on the waters of Lake 
Crena since he was a little dot no higher than my knee ?” 

“But it is called the Witch’s Cauldron, too,” said 
Bridget, her eyes darkening. “They say that misfor- 
tune attends on those who are too fond of sailing on 
its waters.” 

Lady Kathleen laughed. 

“You superstitious colleen,” she said; “as if any 
sensible person minded what ‘they say.’ ” 

“All right. Aunt Kathleen, what’s your news? what 
are you exciting yourself about?” 

“I’m thinking of you, my pet, and how dull it must 
be for you after all the young companions you had at 
school.” 

“Dull for me at the Castle?” exclaimed Bridget, 
opening her big eyes wide. “Dull in the same house 
with daddy, and the servants, and the dogs? I don’t 
understand you !” 

“Well, my darling, that’s just your affectionate way. 
You are very fond of your father and the dogs, of 
course. The dogs are the dogs, but you needn’t try to 
blind me, my dearie dear. To the end of all time the 
young will seek the young, and boys and girls will 
herd together.” 

“Well, there are my cousins, Patrick and Gerald, 
coming next week.” 


I KNOW THE WAVS OF THE CEE AT C/FES. 223 

“Just SO. Fine bits of lads, both of them ; but, when 
all is said and done, only lads. Now, girls want to be 
together as well as boys ; they have their bits of secrets 
to confide to one another, and their bits of fun to talk 
over, and their sly little jokes to crack the one with the 
other; they have to dream dreams together, and plan 
what their future will be like. What a gay time they’ll 
have in the gay world, and what conquests they’ll make, 
and whose eyes will shine the brightest, and whose 
dress will be the prettiest, and which girl will marry the 
prince by and by, and which will find her true vocation 
in a cottage. Oh, don’t you talk to me, Bridget ; I 
know the ways of the creatures, and the longings of 
them, and the fads of them. Haven’t I gone through 
it all myself?’’ 

“You do seem excited. Aunt Kathleen, but you must 
admit too that there are girls and girls, and that this 
girl ’’ 

“Now, I admit nothing, my jewel. Look here, my 
cushla macree, you’re the soul of unselfishness, but you 
shall have your reward. You shall have girls to talk to 
and to play with, and by the same token they are com- 
ing this very moment on the jaunting car to meet you.’’ 

“Who are coming on the jaunting car?’’ asked 
Bridget, in a voice of alarm. 

“Well now, I knew you’d be excited; I knew you 
better than you knew yourself. Your face tells me how 
delighted you are. That dear little Janet May, that 
sweet little friend of yours, the girl you are as thick as 
peas with, is going to spend the holidays at Castle 
Mahun. I sent Larry off with the jaunting car after 
the early dinner to the station to meet her. She’ll be 
here in a minute or two with a sister of hers whom she’s 


224 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


nearly as fond of as she is of yoursell Now, isn’t that 
a surprise for you, my pet?” 

“It is,” said Bridget, in a low voice. 

It was against all the preconceived ideas of the 
O’Haras to show even by the faintest shadow of dis- 
content that they were wanting in hospitality. Bridget 
felt that the high spirits which had been hers during 
the last two days, which had lifted the weight of care, 
and the dreadful sensation of having done wrong, from 
her young heart, had now taken to themselves wings, 
and that the awful depressed sensation which used to 
try her so much at Mulberry Court must be once again 
her portion. 

“You’re pleased, aren’t you, Biddy?” said Aunt 
Kathleen. 

“Of course,” said Bridget, in an evasive tone, “but 
there’s daddy just landing, let me run to him.” 

She flew away, skimming down the steep asc*nt 
with the agility of a bird. She was standing by her 
father’s side, flushed and breathless, when he stepped 
out of the little boat. 

“Eh, colleen,” he exclaimed, “what do you say to 
coming for a sail with me?” 

“Give me a hug, daddy.” 

“That I will, my girl; eh, my jewel, it’s good to feel 
your soft cheek. Now, then, what are you rubbing 
yourself against me for, like an affectionate pussy cat?” 

“Nothing. I can’t go for a sail, though; it’s a 
bother, but it can’t be helped.” 

“And why can’t it be helped, if we two wish it, I 
want to know?” 

“There are visitors coming to the Castle; we’ll have 
|:o entertain them, daddy.” 


y£:/^y remiss. 


225 


‘‘Visitors! of course, right welcome they’ll be; but I 
didn’t know of any. Who are they? Do you think 
it’s the O’Conors now, or may be the Mahoneys from 
Court Macherry. What are you staring at me like that 
for, child? If there are visitors coming, you and I 
must go and give them a right good hearty welcome ; 
but who in the world can they be?” 

“One of them is a schoolfellow of mine, her name is 
Janet May.” 

“Janet May,” repeated the squire; “we don’t have 
those sort of names in Ireland. A schoolfellow of 
yours? Then, of course, she’ll be right welcome. A 
great friend, I suppose, my pet? She’ll be welcome; 
very welcome.” 

“Look at me, daddy, for a minute,” said Bridget, 
speaking quickly and in great excitement. “Let us 
welcome her, as of course all true Irish people ought to 
welcome their guests, but don’t let’s talk about her 
.when you and I are alone. She has a sister coming 
too, and there’s Aunt Kathleen waving her hands to 
us, and gesticulating. They must have arrived. If I 
had known it. I’d have ordered the bonfires to be lit 
on the hilltops, but I did not hear a thing about it 
until aunty told me a few minutes ago.” 

“It was remiss of Kathleen, very remiss,” said the 
squire. “It is positively wanting in courtesy not to 
have the bonfires lit. Let’s go up at once, Biddy, and 
meet your guests in the porch.” 

Squire O’Hara took his daughter’s hand. They 
climbed the ascent swiftly together, and were standing 
in the porch. Lady Kathleen keeping them company, 
when the jaunting car drew up. 

To an Irish person bred and born there is no more 


226 


BASHFUL FlFTEEM. 


delightful mode of locomotion than this same jaunting 
car, but people fresh to the Emerald Isle sometimes 
fail to appreciate its merits. 

The jaunting car requires an easy and yet an assured 
seat. No clutching at the rails, no faint suspicion on 
the countenance of its occupant that there is the least 
chance of being knocked off at the next abrupt turn of 
the road, or the next violent jolt of the equipage. 
You must sit on the jaunting car as you would on your 
horse’s back, as if you belonged to it, as the saying 
goes. 

Now, strangers to Ireland have not this assured seat, 
and although Janet was too clever and too well bred to 
show a great deal of the nervousness she really felt, she 
could not help clinging frantically to the rail at the end 
of her side, and her small face was somewhat pale, and 
her lips tightly set. She had maneuvered hard for this 
invitation, she had won her cause, all had gone well 
with her; but this awful, bumping, skittish rollicking 
car might after all prove her destruction. What a wild 
horse drew this terrible car! What a reckless looking 
coachman aided and abetted all his efforts at rushing 
and flying over the ground ! Oh, why did they dash 
down that steep hill? why did they whisk round this 
sudden corner? She must grasp the rail of her seat 
still tighter. She would not fall off, if nerve and cour- 
age could possibly keep her on ; but would they do so? 

Janet had plenty of real pluck, but poor Sophy was 
naturally a coward. They had not gone a mile. on the 
road before she began to scream most piteously. 

“I won’t stay on this awful, barbarous thing another 
minute,” she shrieked. ‘T shall be dashed to pieces, 
my brains will be knocked out. Janet, Janet, I say. 


YOU CAN'T DO THAT, MISS. 227 

Janet, if you don’t get the driver to stop at once I’ll 
jump off.” 

“Oh, there aint the least soight of fear,” said Larry, 
whisking his head back in Sophy’s direction with a con- 
temptuous and yet good-humored twinkle in his eyes. 

“I can’t stay on; you must pull the horse up,” 
shrieked the frightened girl. “I can’t keep my seat; I 
am slipping off, I tell you I am slipping off. I’ll be 
on the road in another minute.” 

“Here then, Pat, you stay quiet, you baste,” said 
Larry. 

He pulled the spirited little horse up, until he nearly 
stood on his haunches, then, jumping down himself, 
came up to Sophy’s side. 

“What’s the matter, miss?” he said; “why, this is 
the very safest little kyar in the county. You just sit 
aisy, miss, and don’t hould on, and you will soon take 
foine to the motion.” 

“No, I won’t,” said Sophy. “I’ll never take to it; I 
am terrified nearly out of my senses. I’ll walk to that 
Castle of yours, whatever the name of it is.” 

“You can’t do that, miss, for it’s a matther of close 
on twenty mile from here.” 

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” Sophy began to cry. “I 
wish I’d never come to this outlandish, awful place!” 
she exclaimed, forgetting all her manners in her extrem- 
ity. “Janet, how heartless of you to sit like that, as if 
you didn’t think of anyone but yourself! I’d much 
rather be back with Aunt Jane, or even taking care of 
those horrid Persian cats. Oh, anything would be 
better than this !” 

“Don’t you cry, miss,” said Larry, who was a very 
good-natured person. “The little kyar is safe as safe 


228 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


can be ; but maybe, seeing as you’re frightened, miss, 
you’d like to sit in the well. We has a pretty big well 
to this jaunting car, and I’ll open it out and you can 
get in.” 

The well which divided the two seats (running be- 
tween them, as anyone who knows an Irish jaunting 
car will immediately understand) was a very small and 
shallow receptacle for even the most diminutive adult, 
but “any port in a storm,” thought poor Sophy. She 
scrambled gratefully into the well, and sat there curled 
up, looking very foolish, and very abject. 

The two travelers were therefore in a somewhat 
sorry plight when they arrived at the Castle, and 
Sophy’s appearance was truly ridiculous. 

Not a trace of mirth, however, was discernible on the 
faces of the kind host, his sister-in-law, and daughter 
as they came out to meet their guests. 

Dennis O’Hara lifted Sophy in a twinkling to the 
ground. Janet devoutly hoped that she would not be 
killed as she made the supreme effort of springing from 
the car. Then began a series of very hearty offers of 
friendship and hospitality. 

“Welcome, welcome,” said the squire. “I’m right 
glad to see you both. Welcome to Castle Mahun ! And 
is this your first visit to Ireland, Miss — Miss May?” 

“Yes,” said Janet, immediately taking the initiative, 
“and what a lovely country it is!” 

“I agree with you,” said the squire, giving her a 
quick, penetrating, half-pleased, half-puzzled glance. 
“I must apologize for not having bonfires lit in your 
and your sister’s honor; but Lady Kathleen didn’t tell 
me I was to have the pleasure of your company until 
a few minutes ago.” 


I CAN'T BEAR IT. 


229 


“I kept it as a joyful surprise,” said Lady Kathleen; 
“but now, Dennis, let the two poor dear girls come in. 
They look fit to drop with fatigue. And so this is your 
little sister Sophy, Mayflower! I am right glad to see 
you, my dear. Welcome to Old Ireland, the pair of 
you ; I will take you up myself to your room. Biddy, 
darling! Biddy!” 

But, strange to say, Biddy was nowhere to be seen. 

There was a little old deserted summerhouse far 
away in a distant part of the grounds, and there, a few 
minutes afterward, might have been heard some angry, 
choking, half-smothered sobs. They came from a girl 
in a pale green silk dress, who had thrown herself dis- 
consolately by the side of a rustic table, and whose hot 
tears forced themselves through the fingers with which 
she covered her face. 

“I can’t bear it,” she said to herself. “I can’t be 
hospitable, and nice, and friendly, and yet I suppose I 
must. What would father say if one of the O’Haras 
were wanting in courtesy to a visitor? Oh, dear! how 
I hate that girl ! I didn’t think it was in me to hate 
anyone as I hate her! I hate her, and I — I fear her ! 
There’s a confession for Bridget O’Hara to make. 
She’s afraid of someone! She’s afraid of a wretched 
poor small specimen of humanity like that ! But it is 
quite true ; that girl has got a power oyer me. She has 
got me into her net. Oh, what induced Aunt Kathleen 
to ask her here? Why should the darling beloved 
Castle be haunted by her nasty little sneaking presence? 
Why should my holidays be spoiled by her? This is 
twenty times worse than having her with me at school, 
for we were at least on equal terms there, and we are 
not here. She’s my visitor here, and I must be polite 


230 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


to her. I don’t mind that abject looking sister of hers, 
who sat huddled up in the well of the car, one way or 
the other; but Janet is past enduring. Oh, Aunt 
Kathleen, what have you done to me?” 

Bridget sobbed on stormily. The old sensation of 
having lowered herself, of being in disgrace with her- 
self, was strongly over her. She hated herself for being 
angry at having Janet in the house, for so strong were 
her instincts of hospitality that even to think an un- 
courteous thought toward a visitor seemed to her to 
be like breaking the first rules of life. 

She had rushed to the summerhouse to give herself 
the comfort of a safety valve.^ She must shed the tears 
which weighed against her eyes. She must speak aloud 
to the empty air some of the misery which filled her 
heart. She was quite alone. It was safe for her to 
storm here ; she knew that if she spent her tears in this 
safe retreat she would be all the better able to bear her 
sorrows by and by. 

As she sobbed, thinking herself quite alone, the little 
rustic door of the old summerhouse was slowly and 
cautiously pushed open, and a dog’s affectionate, melt- 
ing eyes looked in. 

The whole of a big shaggy head protruded itself 
next into view, four big soft feet pattered across the 
floor, and a magnificent thoroughbred Irish greyhound 
laid his head on the girl’s knee. 

‘‘O Bruin, Bruin; oh, you darling!” exclaimed 
Bridget. “I can you how sorry I am! I can tell 
you how mean and horrid and contemptible I feel ! 
Kiss me. Bruin; let me love you, you darling! you 
darling! You’ll never tell that you found me like this, 
will you. Bruin?” 


never:' said bruin. 


231 


“Never !” said Bruin’s eyes. “Of course not; what 
can you be thinking about? And now cheer up, won’t 
you? 

“Yes, I will,” said Bridget, answering their language. 
“Oh, what a great comfort you are to me, Bruin, my 
dog!” 


C. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE SQUIRE AND HIS GUESTS. 

The great bell clanged out its hospitable boom for 
supper. Supper was a great institution at the Castle. 
It was the meal of the day. A heterogeneous sort of 
repast, at which every conceivable eatable, every avail- 
able luxury, graced the board. From tea, coffee, and 
bread and butter to all sorts of rich and spiced dishes, 
nothing that the good-humored Irish cook could pro- 
duce was absent from the squire’s supper table. 

It was the one meal in the day at which he himself 
ate heartily. The squire ate enough then to satisfy 
himself for the greater part of the twenty-four hours; 
for, with the exception of a frugal breakfast at eight in 
the morning, which consisted of tea, bread and butter, 
and two new-laid eggs, he never touched food again 
until the great evening meal, which was tea, supper, 
and dinner in one. 

People had easy times at Castle Mahun. There was 
no stiffness anywhere. The rule of the house was to 
go where you pleased, and do what you liked. Once a 
visitor there, you might, as far as Squire O’Hara was 
concerned, be a visitor for all the rest of your natural 
life. Certainly no one would think of hinting at the 
possibility of your going. When you did take it into 
your head to depart, you would be warmly invited to 
renew your visit at the first available opportunity, and 

23? 


TifE HOLY WELL, 




the extreme shortness of your stayj even though that 
stay had extended to months, would be openly com- 
mented upon and loudly regretted. But, as in each 
fortress there is one weak spot, and as in every rule 
there is the invariable exception, the Squire did de- 
mand one thing from his own family and his visitors 
alike, and that was a punctual attendance in the lofty 
dining hall of the Castle at suppertime. 

Bridget heard the bell twanging and sounding, and 
knew that the summons to appear at supper had gone 
forth. She mopped away her tears with a richly em- 
broidered cambric handkerchief, stuffed it into her 
pocket, looked with a slight passing regret at some 
muddy marks which Bruin had made on her silk dress, 
and prepared to return to the house. 

“I wonder. Bruin,” she said, “if my eyes show that I 
have been crying? What a nuisance if they do. I’d 
better run down to the Holy Well before I go 
into the house, and, see if a good bathe will take the 
redness away. Come along. Bruin, my dog, come 
quickly.” 

Bruin trotted on in front of Bridget. He knew her 
moods well. He had comforted her before now in the 
summerhouse. No one but Bruin knew what bitter 
tears she had shed when she was first told she must go 
to England to school. Bruin had found her in the 
summerhouse then, and she had put her arms round 
his neck and kissed him, and then she had mopped her 
wet eyes and asked him as she did to-night if they 
showed signs of weeping, and also as to-night the dog 
and the girl had repaired to the Holy Well to wash the 
traces of tears away. 

Bruin went on in front, now trotting quickly, and 


234 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


never once troubling himself to look back. They soon 
reached the little well, which was covered with a small 
stone archway, under which the water lay dark and 
cool. Rare ferns dipped their leaves into the well, and 
some wild flowers twined themelves over the arch, 
which always, summer and winter, kept the sun from 
touching the water. It was a lonely spot not often 
frequented, for the well had the character of being 
haunted, and its waters were only supposed to act as a 
charm or cure on the O’Hara family. Bridget, there- 
fore, stepped back with a momentary expression of 
surprise when she saw a woman bending down by the 
well in the act of filling a small glass bottle with some 
of its water. 

She was a short, stout woman of between fifty and 
sixty. Her hair was nearly snow-white; her face was 
red and much weather-beaten ; her small gray7 twink- 
ling eyes were somewhat sunk in her head ; her nose 
was broad and retrouss^, her mouth wide, showing 
splendid white teeth without a trace of decay about 
them. 

The woman looked up when she heard a footstep ap- 
proaching. Then, seeing Bridget, she dashed her glass 
bottle to the ground, and rushing up to the young girl, 
knelt at her feet, and clasped her hands ecstatically 
round her knees. 

“Oh, Miss Biddy, Miss Biddy!” she exclaimed. 
“It’s the heart-hunger I have been having for the sake 
of your purty face. Oh, Miss Biddy, my colleen, and 
didn’t you miss poor Norah?” 

“Of course I did, Norah,” said Bridget. ‘.T could 
not make out where you were. I asked about you 
over and over again, and they said you were away on 


WHERE IS RAT? ^35 

the hills, sheep-shearing. I did think it was odd, for 
you never used to shear the sheep, Norah.” 

“No,’’ said Norah, “but I was that distraught with 
grief I thought maybe it ’ud cool me brain a bit. It’s 
about Pat I’m in throuble, darlin’. It’s all up with the 
boy and me! We has waited for years and years, and 
now there don’t seem no chance of our being wedded. 
He’s no better, Miss Biddy. The boy lies flat out on 
his back, and there aint no strength in him. Oh ! me 
boy, me boy, that I thought to wed !’’ 

“And where is Pat, Norah?’’ said Bridget. “I asked 
about him, too, and they said he had been moved up to 
a house on one of the hills, to get a little stronger air. 
I was quite pleased, for I know change of air is good 
for people after they get hurt. And why can’t you be 
wed, Norah, even if Pat is hurt? I should think he’d 
want a wife to nurse him very badly now. Why can’t 
you have a wedding while I’m at home, Norah 
macree?’’ 

“Oh, me darlin’ — light of me eyes that you are — but 
where’s the good when the boy don’t wish it himself? 
He said to me only yesterday, ‘Me girl,’ said he, ‘it 
aint the will of the Vargen that you and me should 
wed this year, nor maybe next. We must put it off for 
a bit longer.’ I’m close on sixty. Miss Bridget, and Pat 
is sixty-two, and it seems as if we might settle it now, 
but he don’t see it. He says it was the will of the 
Vargen to lay him on his back and that there must be 
no coorting nor marrying until he’s round on his feet 
again. I am about tired of waiting, Miss Bridget; 
for, though I aint to say old, I aint none so young 
nayther.’’ 

“But you have a lot of life left in you still, Norah,” 


236 BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 

said Bridget. “I’ll go and talk to Pat to-morrow, and 
we’ll soon put things right. I was so dreadfully sorry 
to hear that he was hurt. And did you get my letter 
that I wrote to you from school?’’ 

“To be sure, darlin’ ! and why wouldn’t I? and it’s 
framed up in Pat’s cottage now, and we both looks at 
it after we has said our beads each night. It was a 
moighty foine letter. Miss Biddy! Pat and me said 
that you was getting a sight of laming at that foreign 
school.’’ 

“And did you get the money I sent you, Norah? I 
sent you and Pat two whole pounds in a postal order. 
I was so glad I had it to give you. Two pounds means 
a lot of money to an Irish boy and girl. Weren’t you 
glad when you saw it, Norah? Didn’t it make you 
and Pat almost forget about the accident and the 
pain?’’ 

“Oh, Miss Bridget, alanna !’’ Norah’s deep-set, good- 
natured, and yet cunning eyes were raised in almost 
fear to the young girl’s face. “Miss Bridget, alanna, 
there worn’t never a stiver in the letter. No, as sure 
as I’m standing here; not so much as a brass bawbee, 
let alone gold. Oh, alanna, someone must have shtole 
the beautiful money. Oh, to think of your sending it, 
and we never to get it; oh, worra, worra me!” 

Bridget turned rather pale while Norah was speaking. 

“I certainly sent you the money,” she said. “Didn’t 
I tell you so in the letter?” 

Norah fumbled with her apron. 

“Maybe you did, darlin’,” she said evasively. 

“But don’t you know? It was principally to tell 
you about the money that I wrote.” 

“Well, you see, darlin’— truth is best. Nayther Pat 


so FAITHFUL AHD SO GOOD. 


237 


nor me can read, and so we framed the letter, but we 
don't know what’s in it ; only we knew from the for- 
eign mark as it was from that baste of a school, and 
that it must be from you.” 

“I think I must run in to supper now, Norah; there 
are some visitors come to the Castle, and I’m awfully 
late as it is, and father may be vexed. I’ll ride up on 
Wild Hawk to-morrow to see Pat, and you had better 
be there, and we’ll find out where that money has got 
to. Good-night, Norah ; but first tell me what you 
were doing at the Holy Well?” 

“Don’t you be angry with me. Miss Biddy. I thought 
maybe if I brought a bottle of the water to Pat, and he 
didn’t know what it was, and he drank some as if it 
was ordiner water, that it would act as a love philter on 
him, and maybe he’d consint to our being married be- 
fore many months is up. For I’m wearying to have 
the courtship over, and that’s the truth I’m telling ye. 
Miss Bridget. I am awfully afraid as Pat has seen 
me gray hairs, and that they are turning the boy 
agen me, and that he’ll be looking out for another 
girl.” 

“If he does I’ll never speak to him again,” said 
Bridget slowly. “You so faithful and so good! but 
now I must go in to supper, Norah.” 

Bridget ran scrambling and panting up to the house. 
Bruin kept her company step by step. He entered the 
large dining hall by her side, and walked with her to 
the head of the board, where she sat down in a vacant 
chair near her father’s side. 

“You’re late, alanna,” he said, turning his fine face 
slowly toward her with a courteous and yet reproach- 
ful glance. 


238 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


She did not reply in words, but placed her hand on 
his knee for a moment. 

The touch brought a smile to his face. He turned 
to talk to Janet, who, neatly dressed, and all traces of 
fatigue removed, was sitting at his other side. 

Lady Kathleen was attending to Sophy’s wants at 
the farther end of the table; but between them and 
the squire were several other visitors. These visitors 
were now so accustomed to paying long calls at Castle 
Mahun that they had come to look upon it as a second 
home. They were all Irish, and most of them rather 
old, and they one and all claimed relationship with 
Squire O’Hara. Nobody said much to them, but they 
ate heartily of the good viands with which the table was 
laden, and nodded and smiled with pleasure when the 
squire pressed them to eat more. 

“Miss Macnamara, I insist on your having another 
glass of sherry!” the squire would thunder out; or, 
“Mr. Jonas O’Hagan, how is your lame foot this even- 
ing? and are you making free with the beef? It is 
meant to be eaten, remember; it is meant to be 
eaten.” 

Jonas O’Hagan, a very lean old man of close on sev- 
enty, would nod back to the squire, and help himself 
to junks of the good highly spiced beef in question. 
Miss Macnamara would simper and say: 

“Well, squire, to oblige you then, I’ll have just a 
leetle drop more sherry.” 

The business of eating, however, was too important 
for the squire to do much in the way of conversation. 

Janet’s small-talk— she thought herself an adept at 
small-talk — was kindly listened to, but not largely 
responded to. 


TT WAS IMPOSSIBLE. 


Bridget whispered to herself, “I must really tell 
Janet another day that father must be left in peace to 
eat the one meal he really does eat in the twenty-four 
hours.” 

Bridget herself did not speak at all. She scarcely ate 
anything, but leaned back against her chair, one hand 
lying affectionately on Bruin’s head. Anxious and 
troubled thoughts were filling her young mind. What 
had become of the two pounds she had given Janet to 
put into Norah’s letter? 

She felt startled and perplexed. It was an awful 
thing to harbor bad feelings toward a visitor. All 
Bridget’s instincts rose up in revolt at the bare idea. 
She thought herself a dreadful girl for being obliged to 
rush away to the old summerhouse to cry ; but bad as 
that was, what was it in comparison to the thoughts 
which now filled her mind? Could it be possible that 
Janet, sitting there exactly opposite to her, looking so 
neat, so pretty, so tranquil, could have stolen those two 
sovereigns? Could the girl who called herself Bridget’s 
friend be a thief? 

Oh, no, it was simply impossible. 

Bridget had already discovered much meanness in 
Janet May. Janet, with her own small hand, had led 
Bridget O’Hara into crooked paths. 

But all that, bad as it was, was nothing — nothing at 
all in Bridget’s eyes, to the fact that she had stooped 
to be just a common thief. 

“I thought that only very poor and starving people 
stole,” thought the girl to herself, as she broke off a 
piece of griddle cake and put it to her lips. “Oh, I 
can’t — I won’t believe it of her. The postal order must 
have been put into the letter, and someone must have 


240 BASriFUL FIFTEEI^. 

taken it out before it reached Pat’s hands. Perhaps 
the postal order is in the envelope all this time. 
When I ride over on Wild Hawk to-morrow to see Pat 
I’ll ask him to show me the envelope. It would be a 
good plan if I took Janet with me. I can soon judge 
by her face whether she stole the money or not. Of 
course, if she did steal it, I must speak to her, but I 
can’t do it on any part of the O’Hara estate. It would 
be quite too awful for the hostess to accuse her visitor 
of theft.” 

“Biddy, alanna — a penny for your thoughts,” said 
the squire, tapping his daughter on her cheek. 

“They are not worth even a farthing,” she replied, 
coloring, however, and starting away from his keen 
glance. 

“Then, if our young friends have done their 
supper, you’ll maybe take them round the place a 
bit, colleen ; they’ll like to smell the sweet evening 

air, and to By the way, are you partial to dogs, 

Miss May; we have a few of them to show you if 
you are?” 

“Oh, I like them immensely,” said Janet. (“Horrid 
bores!” she murmured under her breath.) “I don’t 
know much about them, of course,” she added, raising 
her seemingly truthful eyes and fixing them on the old 
squire. “I had an uncle once; he’s dead. I was very 
fond of him ; he had a deerhound something like that 
one.” 

She nodded at Bruin as she spoke. 

“Ah,” said Mr. O’Hara, interested at once, “then 
you can appreciate the noblest sort of dog in the 
world. Come here. Bruin, my king, and let me intro- 
duce you to this young lady. This is a thoroughbred 


THE THREE GIRLS. 


241 


Irish deerhound, Miss May ; I wouldn’t part with him 
for a hundred pounds in gold of the realm.” 

The stately dog, who had been crouching by Bridg- 
et’s feet, rose slowly at his master’s summons and ap- 
proached Janet. He sniffed at the small hand which 
lay on her knee, evidently did not think much of either 
it or its owner, and returned to Biddy’s side. 

“You won’t win Bruin in a hurry,” said the squire. 
“I doubt if he could tak^ to anyone who hasn’t Irish 
blood ; but for all that, although he won’t love you, 
since I have formally introduced you to each other he’d 
rather die than see a hair of your head hurt. You are 
Bruin’s guest now, and supposing you were in trouble 
of any sort during your visit to Castle Mahun, you’d 
find out the value of being under the dog’s protec- 
tion.” 

“Yes,” said Janet, suppressing a little yawn. She 
rose from her seat as she spoke. “Shall we go out, 
Biddy ?” she said. “ Will you take Sophy and me round 
the place as your father has so kindly suggested?” 

“Certainly,” said Bridget; “we’ll walk round the 
lake, and I’ll show you the view from the top of the 
tower. There’ll be a moon to-night, and that will make 
a fine silver path on the water. Are you coming too. 
Aunt Kathleen?” 

“Presently, my love, after I have been round to look 
at Minerva and the pups.” 

The three girls left the hall in each other’s com- 
pany. 

Sophy began to give expression to her feelings in 
little, weak, half-hysterical bursts of rapture. “Oh, 
what a delightful place !” she began, skipping by Bridg- 
et’s side she spoke. “This air does revive one so; 


242 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


and what a view !” clasping her two hands together. 
“Miss O’Hara, how you are to be envied — you who 
live in the midst of this beauty. Oh, good Heavens, 
I can’t stand all those dogs! I’m awfully afraid; I 
really am. Down, down ! you horrid thing, you ! Oh, 
please, save me ; please, save me !” Sophy caught 
violent hold of Bridget’s wrist, shrieked, danced, and 
dragged her dress away. 

About a dozen dogs had suddenly rushed in a fury 
of ecstasy round the corner. Some of them had been 
chained all day, some shut up in their kennels. All 
were wild for their evening scamper, and indifferent 
in the first intoxication of liberty to the fact of whether 
they were caressing friends or strangers. They slob- 
bered with their great mouths and leaped upon the 
girls, licking them all over in their joy. 

The charge they made was really a severe one, and 
Sophy may easily have been forgiven for her want of 
courage. 

Janetj who disliked the invasion of the dogs quite as 
much as her sister, favored that young person now 
with a withering glance; but Bridget spoke in a kind 
and reassuring tone. 

“I’m so sorry they should have annoyed you,’’ she 
said ; “I might have known that you weren’t accus- 
tomed to them. Daddy and I like them to jump about 
in this wild fashion, but I might have known that it 
wouldn’t be pleasant to you. Down, this minute, 
dogs; I’m ashamed of you! Down, Mustard; down. 
Pepper; down, Oscar; down, Wild-Fire. Do you 
hear me? I’ll use the whip to you if you don’t 
obey.” 

Bridget’s fine voice swelled on the evening breeze. 


TO HEEL. 


243 


Each dog looked at her with a cowed and submissive 
eye ; they ceased their raptures, and hung their droop- 
ing heads. 

“To heel, every one of you!“ she said. 

They obeyed, and the girls entered the shady but 
steep walk which hung over the lake. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE HOLV WELL. 

“You won’t forget, girls,’’ said Lady Kathleen the 
next morning when breakfast was over, “that Patrick 
and Gerald are coming to stay here to-day?’’ 

“Hurrah!’’ said Bridget; “we’ll have some shooting 
and fishing then.’’ 

“You can’t shoot at this time of year,’’ said the 
squire. 

“I don’t mean to shoot game, father,’’ she replied. 
“I want to learn proper rifle shooting. What do you 
say, Janet; wouldn’t you like to handle firearms?’’ 

Janet hesitated for a moment; she saw disapproval 
on Lady Kathleen’s face, and took her cue from her. 

“I don’t think I’m strong enough,’’ she said. 
“Shooting with firearms seems just the one accom- 
plishment which a girl cant manage ; at least, I mean 
an ordinary girl.” 

Lady Kathleen clapped her hands. 

“Hear to you, Mayflower,’’ she said. “Right you 
are; I go with you, my dear. Firearms are downright 
dangerous things; and if I had my will, Biddy should 
never touch them. Do you hear me, squire?’’ 

“Pooh!’’ said the squire; “what harm do they do? 
A girl ought to know how to defend herself. As to 
the danger, if she uses her common sense there is not 
^ny. I grant you that a foolish girl oughtn’t to touch 

844 


VO a SPOIL HER. 


245 


firearms ; but give me a sensible, strong-hearted colleen, 
and ril provide that she handles a gun with the pre- 
cision and care of the best sportsman in the land. 
Biddy here can bring down a bird on the wing with any 
fellow who comes to shoot in the autumn, and I don’t 
suppose there is Biddy’s match in the county for 
womanly graces either.” 

“You spoil her, Dennis,” said Lady Kathleen. “It’s 
well she’s been sent to school to learn some of her fail- 
ings, for she’d never find them out here. Not but that 
I’m as proud as Punch of her myself. For all that, 
however. I’d leave out the shooting; and I’m very 
much obliged to little Mayflower for upholding me.” 

”You haven’t a wrist for a gun,” said the squire, 
glancing at Janet’s small hands. “Your vocations lie 
in another direction. You must favor me with a song 
some evening. I guess somehow by the look of your 
face that you are musical.” 

“I adore music,” said Janet with enthusiasm. 

“That’s right. Can you do the ‘Melodies’?” 

“The ‘Melodies’?” 

“Yes; ‘She is far from the Land,’ and ‘The Minstrel 
Boy,’ and ‘The Harp that once through Tara’s Halls’ ; 
but it isn’t likely you can touch that. It requires an 
Irish girl born and bred, with her fingers touching the 
strings of an Irish harp, and her soul in her eyes, and 
her heart breaking through the beautiful birdlike voice 
of her, to give that ‘Melody’ properly. We’ll have it 
to-night, Biddy, you and 1. We’ll get the harp brought 
out on the terrace, and when the moon is up we’ll have 
the dogs lying about, and we’ll sing it;*you and 1.” 

“Dear, dear, squire,” said Lady Kathleen, “if you 
and Biddy sing ‘The Harp that once through Tara’s 


246 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


Halls’ as you can sing it, you’ll give us all the creeps! 
Why, it seems to be a sort of wail when you two do it. 
I see the forsaken hall, and the knights, and the chief- 
tains, and the fair ladies! Oh, it’s melting, melting ! 
You must provide yourselves with plenty of handker- 
chiefs, Mayflower and Sophy, if we are going to have 
that sort of entertainment. But here comes the post- 
bag; I wonder if there’s anything for me.” 

The door of the hall was swung open at the farther 
end, and a man of about thirty, with bare feet, and 
dressed in a rough fustian suit, walked up the room, 
and deposited the thick leather bag by the squire’s 
side. 

“Now what did you come in for, Jonas?” he asked. 
“Weren’t any of the other servants about?” 

“I couldn’t help meself, your honor,” said Jonas, 
pulling his front lock of hair, and looking sheepishly 
and yet affectionately down the long table. “I was 
hungering for a sight of Miss Biddy. I hadn’t clapped 
eyes on her sence she came back, and I jest ran foul of 
them varmints, and made free of the hall. Begging 
your honor’s parding, I hope there’s no harm done.” 

“No, Jonas, not any. Make your bob to Miss 
Biddy now, and go.” 

The man bowed low, flashed up two eyes of devo- 
tion to the girl’s face, and scampered in a shambling 
kind of way out of the room. 

“Good soul, capital soul, that,” said the squire, 
nodding to Janet. 

“He seems very devoted,” she replied, lowering her 
eyes to conceal her true feelings. 

The squire proceeded to unlock the letter-bag and 
dispense its contents. Most of the letters were for 


FROM EASTCLIFF. 247 

himself, but there was one thick inclosure for Lady 
Kathleen. 

Janet sprang up to take it to her. As she did so she 
recognized the handwriting and the postmark. The 
letter came from Eastcliff, and was from Mrs. Freeman. 

Janet felt her heart beat heavily. She felt no doubt 
whatever that this letter, so thick in substance and so 
important in appearance, contained an account of poor 
Biddy’s delinquencies. 

Lady Kathleen received it, and laid it by her plate. 

“Who’s your correspondent, Kathleen?’’ asked the 
squire, from the other end of the table. It was one of 
his small weaknesses to be intensely curious about 
letters. 

Lady Kathleen raised the letter and examined the 
writing. 

“It’s from Eastcliff,” she said, ‘‘from Mrs. Freeman; 
I know by the way she flourishes her t’s. The letter is 
from Mrs. Freeman,” she repeated, raising her voice. 
“A thick letter, with an account, no doubt, of our 
Biddy’s progress.” 

Bridget, who was standing by her father’s side, 
turned suddenly pale. Her hand, which rested on his 
shoulder, slightly trembled ; a sick fear, which she had 
thought dead, came over her with renewed force. She 
had forgotten the possibility of Mrs. Freeman writing 
an account of her wrong doings to Lady Kathleen, 
Now she felt a sudden wild terror, something like a 
bird caught for the first time in the fowler’s net. 

Squire O’Hara felt her hand tremble. This father 
and daughter were so truly one that her lightest 
moods, her most passing emotions were instantly per- 
ceived by him. 


i?.-/ SI IF tJL FIF TFEAK 


248 


“You are all in a fuss, colleen,” he said, looking back 
at her; “but if there is a bit of praise in the letter, wh}" 
shouldn’t we hear it? You open it, and read it aloud 
to us, Kathleen. You’ll be glad to hear what my 
daughter has done at school, Miss Macnamara.^” 

“Proud, squire, proud,” retorted the old lady, crack- 
ing the top off another egg as she spoke. 

“Please, father, I’d rather the letter wasn’t read 
aloud. I don’t think it is all praise,” whispered Biddy 
in his ear. 

The Squire’s hawk-like face took a troubled glance 
for a quarter of a minute. He looked into Biddy’s 
eyes and took his cue. 

No one else had heard her low, passionate whisper. 

“After all,” he said, “the colleen has a fair share of 
womanly modesty, and I for one respect her for it. 
She can handle a gun with any man among us, but she 
can’t hear herself praised to her face. All right, col- 
leen, you shan’t be. We’ll keep over the letter for the 
present, if you please, Kathleen.” 

“That’s as you please, Dennis. For my part, I ex- 
pect it’s just the school bills, and there is no hurry 
about them. I want to go and speak to Molly Fitz- 
gerald about preserving the late raspberries, so I shan’t 
read the letter at all at present.” 

She slipped it into her pocket, and, rising from the 
table, set the example to the others to follow her. 

The three girls went out on the terrace. Janet 
walked by Bridget’s side, and Sophy ran on in front. 

“I can’t believe,” said Bridget, looking at Sophy, 
“that your sister is older than you. She has quite the 
ways and manners of a very young girl, whereas 
you ” 


DO YOU HEAR? 


249 


“Thank you,” said Janet. “I know quite well what 
you mean, Biddy. I know Tm not young for my age. 
I needn’t pretend when I am with you, Biddy,” she 
continued, speaking with a sudden emphasis; “you 
wouldn’t be young, either, if you had always had to 
lead my life. I have had to do for myself, and for 
Sophy, too, since I was ever so little. I have had to 
plot, and to plan, and contrive. I never had an easy 
life. Perhaps, if I had had the same chances as other 
girls, I might have been different. 

“I wish you would always talk like that,” said 
Bridget, an expression of real friendliness coming into 
her face. “If you would always talk as you are doing 
now — I mean in that true tone — I — I could bear you, 
Janet.” 

“Oh, I know what your feelings are well enough,” 
said Janet. “I am not so blind as you imagine. I 
know you hate having me here, and that if it wasn’t 
for — for something that happened at school you 
wouldn’t tolerate my presence for an hour. But you 
see something did happen at school; something that 
you don’t want to be known; and you have got to 
tolerate me; do you hear?” 

“You’re mistaken in supposing that I would be rude 
to you now you have come,” said Bridget. “I don’t 
think I should have invited you ; I didn’t invite you. 
My aunt didn’t even tell me that she had done so. 
She thought we were friends, and that she was giving 
me a nice surprise when she told me that you were 
coming.” 

“I took care that you didn’t know,” said Janet in a 
low tone, and with a short little laugh. “You don’t 
suppose Lady Kathleen would have thought of the 


250 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


nice little surprise by herself? It was I who managed 
everything; the surprise, and the gay jolly time we 
are to spend at the Castle, and all.” 

“You are clever,” said Bridget, “but I don’t think I 
envy you your kind of cleverness. All the same, now 
that you are here you are my visitor, and I shall do 
what I can to give you a good time.” 

“Thanks,” said Janet, “I dare say I can manage that 
for myself. By the way, did you notice that a letter 
has come from Eastcliff?” 

“From Mrs. Freeman; yes, what of that?” 

“There is no good in your saying ‘What of that?’ so 
calmly with your lips, Bridget, when your heart is full 
of the most abject terror. Didn’t I see how your face 
changed color this morning when you saw the letter, 
and didn’t I notice you when you whispered something 
to your father? You are very, very sorry that letter 
has come. It would be very terrible to you — very 
terrible for you, if its contents were known.” 

Sophy was still flitting on in front. The sunshine 
was bathing the sloping lawns, and the dark forest 
trees, and the smooth bosom of Lake Crena. It 
seemed to Bridget for the first time in her young life 
that sunshine, even when it fell upon Irish land, was a 
mockery and a delusion. 

“I do not want my father to know,” she said, with a 
break in her voice. “It would kill me if he knew. You 
see what he is, Janet, the soul of all that is noble and 
honorable. Oh, it would kill me if he knew what 
I have done ; and I think it would kill him also. O 
Janet, why did you get me into such an awful scrape?” 

“You didn’t think it so very awful when you were 
knowing all your lessons, and getting praise from every- 


W//A T NO Sf SENSE. 


251 


one, and mounting to the head of your class. It 
seemed all right to you then, and you never blamed me 
at all ; but now that the dark side of the picture comes, 
and you are in danger of discovery, you see your con- 
duct in a different light. I have no patience with you. 
You have the appearance of being a very brave girl; 
in reality you are a coward.” 

“No one ever said that to me before,” said Bridget, 
clenching her hand, her eyes flashing. 

“Well, I say it now; it’s very good for the petted, 
and the courted, and the adored, to listen to unvar- 
nished truths now and then. Oh, so you have come 
back, Sophy. Yes, those are pretty flowers, but per- 
haps Miss O’Hara doesn’t wish you to pick her flowers.” 

“Not wish her to pick the flowers,” said Bridget, 
“and she a visitor! What nonsense! Oh, you Eng- 
lish don’t at all know our Irish ways.” 

“I think you have quite lovely ways,” said Sophy. 
“I never felt so happy in my life. I never, never was 
in such a beautiful place, and I never came across such 
truly kind people.” 

“Well, run on then,” said Janet, “and pick some 
more of the flowers.” 

“There’s one of those awful jaunting cars coming up 
the avenue,” said Sophy. 

“Then the boys have come,” exclaimed Bridget. 
“I must fly to them.” 

She rushed away, putting wings to her feet, and the 
two May girls were left standing together. Janet was 
absorbed in a brown study. Sophy’s eager eyes fol- 
lowed the car as it ascended the steep and winding 
avenue. 

“I wonder if we’ll have any fun with the boys,” she 


252 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


said, ‘‘and who are the boys? I hope they are grown 

up." 

“You can make yourself easy on that score,” said 
Janet, “they are only lads — schoolboys. They live on 
the O’Mahoney estate, about eighteen miles away. 
Their names are Patrick and Gerald, and I expect they 
are about as raw and uninteresting as those sort of 
wild Irish can be. Now, Sophy, do continue your 
pretty kittenish employment ; skip about and pick 
some more flowers.” 

“I think I will be kittenish enough to run down the 
avenue and see what the boys are really like,” said 
Sophy. “I’ll soon know whether there is any fun to 
be got out of them.” 

She ran off as she spoke, and Janet found herself 
alone. 

She stood still for a minute, irresolute and nervous. 
The arrival of the letter by that morning’s post had 
given her great uneasiness. She was a young person of 
very calm judgment and ready resource, but as matters 
now stood she could not see her own way. The next 
step was invisible to her, and such a state of things was 
torture to a nature like hers. Oh, if only she could 
secure that letter, then how splendid would be her 
position. Bridget would be absolutely in her power. 
She could do with this erratic and strange girl-^^t 
what she pleased. 

Four gay young voices were heard approaching, 
some dogs were yelping and gamboling about, boyish 
tones rose high on the breeze, followed by the light 
sound of girlish laughter. 

“Talk of Bridget really feeling anything!” 
mured Janet; “why, that girl is all froth.” 


mur- 


MY LITTLE MAVOURNEEN. 253 

She felt that she could not meet the gay young folks 
just now, and ran round a shady path which led to the 
back of the house ; here she found herself in full view 
of a great yard, into which the kitchen premises opened. 
The yard was well peopled with barefooted men, and 
barefooted girls and women. Some pigs were scratch- 
ing, rolling about, and disporting themselves, after their 
amiable fashion, in a distant corner. Some barn-door 
fowls and a young brood of turkeys were making a com- 
motion and rushing after a thickly set girl, who was 
feeding them witji barley ; quantities of yellow goslings 
and downy ducklings were to be seen making for a 
muddy looking pond. Some gentle looking cows were 
lowing in their sheds. The cart horses were being 
taken out for the day’s work. 

It was a gay and picturesque scene, and Janet, anx- 
ious as she felt, could not help standing still for a mo- 
ment to view it. 

“And now, where are you going, Mayflower? and 
why aren’t you with the others?’’ exclaimed a gay 
voice. 

Janet hastily turned her head, and saw Lady Kath- 
leen, with her rich, trailing silk dress turned well up 
over her petticoat, a gayly colored cotton handker- 
chief tied over her head, and a big basket in her 
hand. 

“Why aren’t you with the others, Mayflower?’’ she 
repeated. “Are they bad-hearted enough, and have 
they bad taste enough, not to want you, my little 
mavourneen?” 

“I don’t know. Lady Kathleen,’" said Janet, raising 
eyes which anxiety had rendered pathetic. “I don’t 
know that I am really much missed ; some people 


254 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


whom Bridget speaks of as ‘the boys’ have just arrived, 
and she ” ^ 

“Oh, mercy!” interrupted Lady Kathleen, “and so 
the lads have come. I must go and talk to them as 
soon as ever I have helped cook a bit with the raspber- 
ries. We are going in for a grand preserving to-day, 
and cook and I have our hands full. Would you like 
to come along and give us a bit of assistance, May- 
flower!” 

“You may be sure I would,” said Janet. 

“Well, come then,” said Lady Kathleen. “You can 
eat while you pick. I can tell you that the Castle 
Mahun raspberries are worth eating; why, they are as 
large as a cook’s thimble, each of them ; I don’t mean 
a lady’s thimble, but a cook’s; and that’s no offense to 
you, Molly Malone.” 

Molly Malone, who resembled a thick, short sack in 
figure, spread out her broad hands and grinned from 
ear to ear. 

“Why, then, you must be always cracking your 
jokes, me lady,” she said, “and fine I likes to hear you ; 
and it’s the beautiful, hondsome lady you is.” 

“Get out with you, Molly,” said Lady Kathleen; 
“don’t you come over me with your blarney. Now, 
then, here we are. Isn’t it a splendid, great, big patch 
of berries, Mayflower?” 

“I never saw raspberries growing before,” said Janet; 
“how pretty they look!” 

“They look even prettier when they are turned ii\to 
rich red jam. Now, then, we must all set to work. 
Put your basket here, Molly, and run and fetch us 
some cabbage leaves; we’ll each have a cabbage leaf to 
fill with berries, and when our leaves are full we’ll pop 


LET ME SHOW YOU. 


255 


the berries into the big basket. Oh, bother those 
bramble, they are tearing and spoiling my dress; I 
wish I hadn’t it on. It is quite a good silk, and I know 
it will get both stained and torn, but when the notion 
came to me to help Molly Malone with the preserving, 
I really could not be worried changing it.” 

Janet made no remark, and Lady Kathleen quickly 
busied herself with the raspberry briars. She was a 
very expert picker, and filled two or three leaves wit.h 
the luscious, ripe fruit while Janet was filling one. 

“Why, my dear,” she said, “what are you about? 
Those small fingers of yours are all thumbs. Who’d 
have believed it? Oh! and you must only pick the 
ripe fruit; the fruit that almost comes away when you 
look at it. Let me show you ; there, that’s better. 
Now you have gone and scratched your hand, poor 
mite ; it’s plain to be seen you have no Irish blood in 
you.” 

Janet looked at her small wounded hand with a dis- 
mal face. 

“As I said a minute ago, I never saw raspberries 
growing before,” she said. 

“You needn’t remark that to us, my love; your way 
of picking them proves your ignorance. Now, I tell 
you what you shall do for me. This silk skirt that I 
have on is no end of a bother. I’ll just slip it off; 
there’ll be no one to see me in my petticoat, and you 
can run with it to the house and bring back a brown 
holland skirt which you’ll find in my wardrobe. Run 
straight to the house with the skirt, Janet, and I’ll be 
everlastingly obliged to you. Anyone will show you 
my bedroom ; it is at the end of the Ghost’s Corridor. 
Run, child, run ; put wings to your feet. Well, you 


256 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


are a good-natured little thing; your eyes quite sparkle 
with delight.” 

“I am very glad to oblige you, Lady Kathleen,” said 
Janet. Her eyelashes drooped over her bright eyes as 
she spoke. Lady Kathleen flung the rich silk skirt 
carelessly over her arm, and she ran off. 

“Be sure you bring me the brown holland, my dear, 
with the large fruit stain in front ; there are two of 
them in the wardrobe, and I want the one with the 
fruit stain,” shouted the good lady after her. 

Janet called back that she would remember, and, 
running faster, was soon lost to view. 

When she could no longer get even a peep at Lady 
Kathleen she stood still, and, slipping her hand into 
the pocket of the rich silk skirt, took out the thick let- 
ter with the Eastcliff postmark on it. This was trans- 
ferred to her own pocket ; then, going on to the house, 
she found Lady Kathleen’s bedroom, took down the 
holland skirt with the stain on it, and was back again 
with the good lady after an absence of not more than 
ten minutes. 

“That’s right, my love, that’s right,” said Lady Kath- 
leen ; “you are like that dear, little, old Greek god. 
Mercury, for swiftness and expedition ; and now, as you 
don’t seem to care to pick raspberries, you can go and 
join your young friends. They are safe to go on the lake 
this morning, and I have no doubt you’ll enjoy a row.” 

“Oh, thank you,” said Janet, “I love the water.” 

She turned away, and soon found herself outside the 
great kitchen garden and walking down the steep path 
which led directly to the lake. She heard gay voices 
in the distance, and was willing enough to join the 
young party now. Her heart felt as light as a feather. 


A/AD£ por ufp. 


257 


It was delicious to know that she had, by one dexter 
ous stroke, saved Bridget, and, at the same time, put 
her into her power. 

“I am made for life,” whispered Janet, as she stepped 
along. “Who would have thought half an hour ago 
that such a lucky chance was to be mine? I know per- 
fectly well that Biddy hates me, but she would rather 
conceal her hatred all her life than let her father know 
the contents of the letter which I have in my pocket. 
I am not the least afraid of Lady Kathleen suspecting 
me of having taken it. She is so erratic and careless 
herself that she has probably quite forgotten that she 
ever put Mrs. Freeman’s letter into her pocket. Oh ! I 
am as safe as safe can be, and as happy also. I cannot 
stay long in this wild, outlandish sort of place, but it is 
very well for a short time ; and as I mean to make 
plenty of use of Lady Kathleen in the future, I may as 
well cultivate her all I can now. It would be rather a 
nice arrangement if poor little Sophy were made Bridg- 
et’s companion by and by ; of course I can make any 
terms with Bridget that I like, as I shall always keep 
the letter as a rod in pickle to hold over her devoted 
head. Bridget will be so much afraid of me that she 
will do exactly what I please, and it would be nice for 
Sophy to live with her. 

“As to myself, I mean to go to Paris with Lady 
Kathleen. I shall go to Paris and have a really gay 
and fine time; I mean to go, and I mean also to wear 
some of the lovely Parisian dresses which are showered 
in such profusion on that tiresome, stupid Biddy, which 
she can’t appreciate, and won’t appreciate, but which I 
should make a fine harvest out of. Oh, yes! oh, yes! 
my future is secure. Who would have thought that in 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


258 

one little short half hour Dame Fortune would have 
so completely turned her wheel?” 

Janet skipped and ran down the winding path. She 
presently came to the neighborhood of the Holy Well. 
She knew nothing about the well. It had no history 
whatever to her; but as she felt hot and thirsty, and a 
little wooden cup was hanging by a chain to the arched 
stone roof, and the water looked dark and clear and 
cool beneath, she stooped, intending to take a long 
draught of the cold water. Going close to the well, she 
held up her dress, and walked on the tips of her dainty 
shoes. Bending forward, and stretching out her hand, 
she was about to take the little wooden cup from its 
hook, and to dip it into the well, in order to get a good 
draught of the delicious water, when a voice suddenly 
said to her: 

“Why then, missy, if you drink that wather, you that 
don’t belong to the quality what lives at the big house, 
you’ll have no luck all the rest of your born days.” 

The sound of this voice was so unexpected that 
Janet stepped back, startled. 

A thickly set woman, with white 1>^, was standing 
Hear the well. 

“That wather is only for the O’Haras,” she said. 
“They and their kinsfolk can drink it, and it brings 
them a power of luck, but if so be as strangers so much 
as wets their lips with it, why, a curse enters into their 
bones with every dhrop they takes. That’s thrue as I 
am standing here, miss, and you had better be warned. 
Wance the curse enters into you, you dwindles and 
dwindles till you dhrops out of sight entirely.” ^ 

Janet gave a mocking laugh. 

“Oh, you are a silly old woman,” she exclaimed. 


TOOK A LONG, DEEP DRAUGHT. 259 

“And do you really think that I am going to be taken 
in by nonsense of that sort? I’ll show you now how 
much I believe you.” 

She filled the wooden cup to the brim, then, raising 
it to her lips, took a long, deep draught. 

“Am I beginning to dwindle already?’’ she asked, 
dropping'a courtesy to the angry looking Irishwoman. 
Without waiting for a reply she turned on her heel, 
and ran down the slope. 

The woman followed her retreating form with flash- 
ing eyes. 

“I can’t abide her!’’ she muttered. “She’s an Eng- 
lisher, and I can’t abide them Englishers. I hope she 
will dwindle and dwindle. Oh ! me boy, me boy ! you 
as was a follower Of the family — you and your forbears 
before you — you ought to get good from this holy 
wather, and, oh ! if it would turn your heart to the 
breaking heart of your Norah, how happy I’d be.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


WILD HAWK. 

The boys Patrick and Gerald were jolly, good- 
humored, handsome lads, with not a scrap of affecta- 
tion, but with rather more than the average amount of 
boy mischief in their compositions. They were quite 
inclined to be friendly with the two English girls 
whom they found established at Castle Mahun, but 
that fact would by no means prevent their taking a 
rise out of them at the first opportunity which offered. 

Sophy was full of little nervous terrors. She shrank 
back when they offered to help her into the boat ; she 
uttered a succession of little shrieks as she was con- 
veyed to her seat in the stern. Patrick winked at 
Ger.dd when she did this, and they both made a 
mental resolution to cajole the un^rtunate Sophy 
into the boat some day when they coiild have her all 
to themselves. They would not endanger her life on 
that occasion, but unquestionably they would give her 
an exciting time. 

They meant to play some pranks on Sophy ; but at 
the same time they regarded the pretty, helpless, 
nervous little English girl with a certain chivalrous 
good nature, which by no means animated the feelings 
with which they looked at Janet. 

Janet was not at all to their taste. She had a 
supercilious manner toward them, which was most 


2^0 


THE SHADOW. 


261 


riling. They were shrewd enough to guess, too, that 
Bridget, notwithstanding her gentleness and politeness, 
in her heart of hearts could not bear Janet. As 
Patrick and Gerald would both of them have almost 
died for their cousin Bridget, the knowledge that she 
was not fond of Janet was likely to give that young 
lady some unpleasant experiences in the future. 

Although Bridget was in apparently gay spirits 
during the morning of this day, she was in her heart 
of hearts extremely anxious and unhappy. The 
fatal letter had arrived ; the story of her deceit and 
underhand ways would soon be known to her father 
and to Aunt Kathleen. Aunt Kathleen might, and 
probably would, quickly forgive her ; but Squire 
O’Hara, although he forgave, would, at least, never 
forget. Forever and forever, all through the rest of 
his days, the shadow of Bridget’s dishonor would 
cloud his eyes, and keep back the old gay and heart- 
whole smile from his lips. He would love her, and 
pity her, and be sweet to her, but never again would 
she be as the old Biddy to him. Now he looked upon 
her as a pearl without a flaw, as the best of all 
created beings ;*^n the future there would be a dimness 
over her luster. 

While the poor young girl was laughing with her 
cousins, and trying to make her visitors happy, these 
thoughts darkened and filled her mind. She had also 
another care. 

She must discover if Janet had really taken the two 
pounds. It would be too awful if she were really 
proved to be nothing better than a common thief. 
Bridget intended to ask Janet to accompany her to 
Pat’s cottage on the hills that afternoon. The postal 


262 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


order might all the time be safely tucked away in the 
envelope of the unread letter. If so, all would be 
well ; but if, on the other hand, it was nowhere .to be 
found, Bridget felt sure that she could, to a great 
extent, read the truth in Janet’s face. It would be 
impossible for her to speak to Janet on the subject 
while she was in her father’s house, or even in any 
part of the grounds; but out on the hills, away from 
the O’Hara estate, she might tell her plainly what she 
thought of her conduct. 

When the early dinner was over, Bridget called 
Janet aside and spoke to her. 

“ I am going to ride on my pony Wild Hawk,” 
she said. “ I am going to see some poor people who 
live up in the hills. I don’t want the boys to come, 
but they can amuse Sophy if you like to ride with me, 
Janet. You told me once at school that you were 
very fond of riding.” 

“ That is true,” replied Janet. “I used to ride in 
Hyde Park when I was a very little girl, but that, of 
course, is some years ago.” 

“ Oh, that doesn’t matter, the knowledge will, re- 
main with you. We have a very nice, quiet lady’s 
horse, called Miss Nelly, in the stables ; you shall ride 
her.” 

“ But I haven’t a habit,” said Janet. 

“ I have a nice little one which I have quite out- 
grown. Come to my room, and let me try if it will fit 
you ; I am almost sure it will.” 

“All right,” replied Janet ; “I should enjoy a ride 
very much.” 

She hoped that during this ride she would be able 
to tell Bridget that she had secured the obnoxious 


MY LAND— MY IRELAND. 263 

letter, and the first step of putting the young girl 
completely in her power would begin. 

She went with Miss O’Hara to her bedroom — an 
enormous room furnished with oak, and strewn all 
over with costly knickknacks and ornaments. The 
three large windows commanded an extensive view. 
They were wide open, and Bridget when she en- 
tered the room went straight up to thfe center one, 
and, clasping her hands, said .in a low voice of 
passion : 

“ How I love you ! ” 

“What do you love, Bridget?” asked Janet. 

“ My land — my Ireland,” she said. “ Oh, you can’t 
understand. Please help me to open this long drawer. 
I’ll soon find your habit.” 

Janet assisted her with a will ; the heavy drawer 
was tugged open, and a neat dark blue habit, braided 
with silver, was pulled into view. 

Janet slipped it on, and found that it fitted her 
perfectly. 

“Take it to your room,” said Bridget. “I am very 
glad it fits you ; you may want it many times while 
you are here.” 

“ Yes, and I may want to take it away with me, 
too,” murmured Janet in a whisper to herself. 

She went to her room, put on the dark, prettily 
made habit, and looked at herself with much satis- 
faction in the glass. With a little arrangement, 
Bridget’s childish habit fitted Janet’s neat figure like 
a glove. She had never looked better than she did 
at this moment. The ratlier severe dress gave her a 
certain almost distinguished appearance. Shfe ran 
downstairs in high spirits. Bridget was standing in 


264 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


the hall, and the squire was also present to help the 
two girls to mount their horses. He looked with 
pleasure at Janet, and said in a hearty tone : 

“ I am very glad that you can ride, my little girl. 
It isn’t often that Bridget gets anyone at all her equal 
in horsemanship to accompany her.” 

“Oh, father, you make a great mistake,” exclaimed 
Bridget; “I*haveyou.” 

“ What’s an old boy worth to a young colleen,” he 
replied ; but he smiled at her with fond affection, and 
the horses being led up by a shabbily dressed groom, 
Bridget sprang lightly into her seat on Wild Hawk’s 
back. 

He was a thoroughbred little Arab, with an eye of 
fire, a sensitive mouth, and a jet-black shining skin. 
Miss Nelly was a pretty roan-colored horse, but 
not a thoroughbred like Wild Hawk. 

“You’ll be thoroughly safe on Miss Nelly,” said 
the squire to Janet. “ Yes, that’s right, now take the 
reins, so ! You had better not use the whip, but here 
is one in case you happen to require it.” 

Janet nodded, smiled, and cantered after Bridget 
down the avenue. 

Her heart was beating fast. She was not exactly 
nervous, but as her riding in old times had been of 
the slightest and most superficial kind, she was truly 
thankful to find that Miss Nelly was gentle in tem- 
perament, and not thoroughbred, if to be thor- 
oughbred meant starting at every shadow, and turning 
eyes like dark jewels to look at the smallest obstruc- 
tion that appeared on the road. 

“ It’s all right,” said Bridget, noticing the uneasi- 
ness in Janet’s face. “ Wild Hawk is a bit fresh, 


WOULD THEYf 265 

the beauty, but he’ll quiet clown and go easily enough 
after I have taken it out of him a bit.” 

“What do you mean by ‘taking it out of him,’ 
Bridget? He does not seem to care much for this 
easy sort of trot, and he really does start so that he 
is making Miss Nelly quite nervous.” 

“ Substitute Miss Janet for Miss Nellj^-,” said Bridget, 
with a saucy curl of her lips, “ and you will get 
nearer to the truth. As to its being taken out of the 
horse, you don’t call this little easy amble anything? 
Wait until we get on to the breezy hilh and then you 
will see what kind of pranks Wild Hawk and I will 
play together.” 

“ But nowhere near Miss Nelly, I hope,” said Janet. 

“Nowhere near Miss Nelly?” replied Bridget. 
“Dear me, Janet, you don’t suppose I am taking you 
out like this to lead you into any sort of danger? I 
am not mean enough for that.” 

“Some girls would be mean enough,” said Janet, 
almost in a whisper. 

“Would they? Not the sort of girls I would have 
anything to do with. Now, here we are on the top 
of the hill. Do you see these acres and acres of 
common land which surround us, and do you notice 
that small cottage or hovel which looks something 
like a speck in the far distance? It is in that hovel 
that the poor people live whom I am going to see. 
Now I mean to ride for that hovel straight as an 
arrow from a bow. There are fences and sunk 
ditches in the way, but Wild Hawk and I care 
for none of these things. You, my dear Janet, will 
follow this little stony path on Miss Nelly’s back; 
it is a considerable round to the hovel over there on 


266 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


the horizon, but it is very safe, and you can amble 
along as slowly as you please. I shall be at the 
cottage nearly half an hour before you get to it, but 
what matter? Now then. Wild Hawk, cheer up, 
my king ; go like the wind, or like the bird after 
whom you are named, my darling.” 

Bridget ro^ on a few paces in front of Janet ; 
then she su>^raenly bent forward, until her lips nearly 
touched Wild Hawk’s arched neck. Janet thought 
that the wild Irish girl had whispered a word to the 
wild horse ; t^ next moment the two were seen flying 
through space together. The horse seemed to put 
wings to his feet, his slender feet scarcely touched 
the ground. With the lightness and sureness of a 
bird he cleared the fences which came injthis way. 
Janet could not help drawing in her breath with a 
deep sigh — half of envy, half of admiration. 

“Howsplendid Bridget O’Hara is,” she murmured ; 
“ such a figure, such a face, such a bold, brave spirit ! 
There is something about her which, if the Fates 
were at all fair, even I could love. But they are not 
fair,” continued Janet, an angry flush filling her 
cheeks ; “ they have given her too much, and me too 
little. I must help myself out of her abundance, 
and there’s noway of doing it but by humbling her.” 

So Janet rode gently along the stony path, and in 
the course of time found herself drawing in her reins 
by the low mud hovel, which looked to her scarcely 
like a human habitation. 

The moment she appeared in sight two lean dogs 
of the cur species came out and barked vociferously. 
Miss Nelly was, however, accustomed to the bark- 
ing of dogs, and did not take any notice. At the 


/ HA VE COME. 


267 


same instant a stoutly built, gray-headed woman 
rushed out of tlie cabin and helped her to alight. 

Janet felt a slight sense of discomfort when she 
recognized in this woman the person who had warned 
her not to drink the water of the Holy Well. It was 
not in her nature, however, to show her discomfort, 
except by an extra degree of pertness. 

“How do you do?” she said, noddin^to the woman, 
and springing to the ground as she spoke. “I have 
not begun to dwindle yet, you see.” 

“Why, me dear, it is to be hoped^ot,” answered 
Norah, in quick retort; “for, faix ! then, you are so 
small already that if you grow any less there’ll be noth- 
ing for the eye to catch hould of. But come into the 
cottage, missy; Miss Biddy is sitting by Pat, and com- 
forting the boy a bit with her purty talk.” 

“Pat!” whispered Janet to herself. Her feeling of 
discomfort did not grow less. The name of Pat seemed 
in some queer way familiar, but it did not occur to her 
to connect it with the friends about whom Bridget had 
cried at Mulberry Court. 

She had to stoop her head to enter the hovel, and 
could not help looking round the dirty little place with 
disgust. 

“I have come, Biddy,” she exclaimed. “I don’t sup- 
pose you want to stay long; this cottage is very, very 
close. I don’t care to stop here myself, but I can 
walk about while you are talking to your friends.” 

“Oh, pray, don’t!” said Bridget, springing to her 
feet; “I want to introduce you to Pat. Come here, 
please !” She seized Janet’s small wrist, and pulled her 
forward. “Mr. Patriek Donovan — Miss Janet May. 
This man, Janet, whom I have introduced to you 


268 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


as Patrick Donovan, is one of my very dearest 
friends.” 

“At your sarvice, miss,” said Pat, blushing a fiery 
red, and pulling his forelock awkwardly with one big, 
rather dirty hand. 

He was a powerfully built man, with great shoulders, 
long legs, and grisly hair curling round his chin and on 
his head. His eyes were dark and deep-set ; capable of 
ferocity, but capable also of the affectionate devotion 
which characterizes the noblest sort of dog. He 
looked askanc^ at Janet, read the contempt in her 
glance, and turned to look at Bridget with a humble, 
respectful, but adoring glance. 

Norah had also entered the room ; she was standing 
looking alternately from Pat to Biddy. She was as 
plain as Patrick was the reverse, but the love-light in 
her eyes, as she glanced at her suffering hero, would 
have redeemed and rendered beautiful a far uglier face 
than hers. 

“It’s all right then, Pat,” said Bridget, “we’ll have 
the wedding next week; you’ll be fit to be moved then, 
and you shall come down from the hills on a litter, and 
Vhe wedding shall be at Castle Mahun, and the feast 
shall be in our kitchen, and I’ll give you your bride my 
own self.” 

“Oh, Miss Biddy, long life to ye ; the Heavens above 
presarve ye,” murmured poor Norah, in a ^oice of 
ecstasy. “Oh, me boy, me boy, to think as in The long 
last we’ll be wed !” 

“It’s all right, Norah,” said Pat, touching her fore- 
head for a moment with his big hand ; “don’t make a 
fuss, colleen, before the quality. Keep yourself to 
yourself when there’s strangers looking on.” 


THE POSTAL OLDER. 269 

“Who talks of Miss Biddy as a stranger?” said 
Norah, with fierce passion. 

“No one,” said Pat; “but there’s the young Eng- 
lisher lady ; may the God above bless her, if she’s a 
friend of yours though. Miss Biddy.” 

Bridget made no response to this. She rose and 
offered her chair to Janet. 

“Sit, Janet,” she exclaimed; “there’s a little matter 
I want to talk over before we leave the cottage. You 
remember my telling you at Mulberry Court about 
Pat’s accident ; you remember how troubled I was. I 
wrote a letter to Pat and Norah, and you posted it. I 
gave you two sovereigns to get a postal order to put 
into the letter. Now, a very queer thing has hap- 
pened. The letter arrived quite safely; here is the let- 
ter; you see how neatly Pat has framed it; but the 
postal order never arrived.” 

“That’s thrue. Miss Biddy,” exclaimed Norah. 
“Here’s all as was in the letter, as sure as I’m standing 
up in my stockinged feet this minute.” 

“I put thp postal order in,” said Janet, in a careless 
voice; “what else should I do? I suppose your post- 
men here aren’t honest.” 

“Why then, miss, that’s a bould thing to say of Mike 
Carthy,” answered Pat, in a low, angry voice, which 
resembled a growl. 

“I tlTjPught you might be able to throw some light 
on the * atter,” said Bridget, “but it seems you cannot. 
We must be going home now, so I shall have to say 
good-by, Pat. Norah, you can come down to the Castle 
for some fresh eggs to-morrow, and I’ll get Molly 
Malone to make up a basket of all sorts of good things 
to strengthen Pat for his wedding.” 


270 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“You won’t forget a wee dhrop of the crathur, lady?” 
mutteret^ the giant, looking up into Biddy’s face. 

“No, no, that I won’t, Pat, my poor fellow.” 

Bridget wrung her retainer’s hand, and a moment or 
two later she and Janet were on their homeward way. 

“Now, look here,” -said Bridget, when the girls had 
gone a little distance in almost unbroken silence; “I 
wish to say something; I shan’t talk about it when we 
get home, but out here w^e are both on equal ground, 
and I can talk my mind freely and fully. I watched 
your face when we were in that little cottage, Janet, 
and I am quite certain you know something about 
those two sovereigns which I gave you to post to Pat 
Donovan.” 

“What if I do?” retorted Janet. 

“You have got to tell me the truth,” answered 
Bridget. “If what I suspect is the case, I shall not 
ask Aunt Kathleen to do anything to shorten your 
stay at Castle Mahun ; I shall not breathe the knowl- 
edge that is given to me, to a soul in the house; but I 
myself will never speak to you again. A few bare 
civilities it will be necessary for me to otter, but be- 
yond this I shall never address you. My silence will' 
not be noticed, for everyone else will be kind; but I — 

I tell you plainly that, if what 1 suspect is true^ I will 
not associate with you.” 

“Will you kindly tell me your suspicions?” replied 
Janet. 

“I think — oh! it’s an awful thjng to say — I think 
that you took those two sovereigns and put them into 
your own pocket.” 

“And because of that, supposing it to be true, you 
will not speak to me?” 


WHAT DO YOU MEAN? 


271 


“I will not!” 

“But I tell you that you will; you will speak to me, 
and pet me, and fawn on me, even though you regard 
me as a thief — there !” 

‘‘I won’t, Janet ; I am a proud Irish girl, and I can’t.” 

“You are a very cowardly, mean Irish girl. You are 
not a bit the sort of creature that people imagine you 
to be!” replied Janet, who was now almost overcome 
by the passion which choked her. “You talk of speak- 
ing quite openly and frankly, because we are on the 
hills together. I, too, will give you a piece of my 
mind out here, with no one to listen to us.” 

“No one to listen to us!” said Bridget, her face 
growing pale; “oh, you forget, you must forget, there 
is Nature herself, her voice in the breeze, and in the 
twitter of the birds, and her face looking up at us from 
the earth, and her smile looking down at us from the 
sky. I should be awfully afraid to tell a lie out here, 
alone with Nature.” 

“My dear, I have no intention of telling any lies to 
you. I breathe tarradillies now and then ; I am not 
too proHd to confess it. You would, too, if you were 
situated like me; but I dbn’t waste them on people 
whom it is necessary to be honest with. I did keep 
that iponey ; it was far more useful to me than it would 
be to that Patrick of yours. He didn’t want it, and I 
did. You were full of pity for him, but you had not a 
scrap of pity to bestow on me, so I had to pity myself, 
and I did so by taking your money. I found it most 
useful. But for it, Sophy and I would not now be at 
Castle Mahun. I hoped what I did would never be dis- 
covered. Well, it has been, but it does not greatly 
matter, as you are the one to make the discovery.” 


272 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“What do you mean? what can you mean?” 

“What I say; you can send me to prison, of course, 
and ruin me for life, but you won’t, for your own sake. 
See what I have done to save you !” 

Janet put her hand into her pocket and pulled out 
the Eastcliff letter. 

She held it aloft, and laughed in her companion’s face. 

“You won’t be hard on me now, Biddy,” she said, in 
the tones of one addressing an equal. “If I have been 
a thief — it is an ugly word, and there is no use in speak- 
ing it again ; if I have been a thief, you, too, have done 
something which you are ashamed of. That something 
has been discovered at Mulberry Court, and this letter 
contains a full account of it. Your aunt, Lady Kath- 
leen, was to read it first, and then, of course, in the 
ordinary course, your father would have heard the 
whole disgraceful story. Little as you think of me, I 
have saved you from disgrace, Biddy, my love. You 
are fond of Nature, but Nature won’t tell tales. If you 
will promise to respect the secret you have discovered 
about me, I will respect your secret; I will tear up this 
letter, here on this wild hilltop, and Nature shall bury 
the tell-tale pieces as she \vills and where she likes. 
Here is the letter, Biddy; I have saved you. Ought 
you not to be obliged to me?” 

A queer change came over Bridget while Janet was 
speaking; a certain nobleness seemed to go out of her 
figure; she looked less like part of Wild Hawk than 
she had done five minutes ago ; the color receded from 
her cheeks; her eyes lost their proud fire, her lips their 
proud smile. 

“How did you manage to get that letter?” she whis- 
pered in a low tone. 


SHALL L BEAR IT UP? 


273 


“I am not going to tell you, my darling; I have got 
it, and that ought to be enough for you. Now, are we 
each to respect the secret of the other, or not?” 

“Oh, I don’t know; it seems so dreadful.” 

“It is rather dreadful, dear; I admit that. If you go 
and tell your father and Lady Kathleen about me, and 
about what I have just confessed to you, I shall have a 
very uncomfortable time. I shall be thoroughly and 
completely ruined, but in my ruin I shall pull you 
down too, Bridget, from the pedestal which you now 
occupy. It would be easy for me to put this letter back 
where Lady Kathleen will be able to lay her hands on 
it ; in that case she will read it, and your father will 
know everything. I shall be ruined, and you will have 
a very unpleasant time. You must choose now what 
you will do ; shall we both go on appearing what we 
are not? I, a modest, good-natured little girl, who 
never did an underhand trick in my life, and you — you, 
Biddy, the soul, the essence of what an Irishman calls 
honor.” 

“Oh, don’t,” said Bridget, “you make my eyes burn; 
you make me feel so small and wicked. Janet, why do 
you tempt me so awfully? Janet, I wish — I wish that 
I had never, never known you.” 

“My dear, I can’t echo your wish. I am glad that I 
have met you, for you can be very useful to me; but 
now you have got to choose; shall I put the letter 
back in Lady Kathleen’s room, or shall I tear it up?” 

“But, even if you do tear it up,” said Bridget, “the 
evil day is only delayed. When my aunt does not 
reply to Mrs. Freeman’s letter, she will soon write her 
another, and Aunt Kathleen will perhaps find out that 
you took the letter.” 


274 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“I don’t think she will; she is the kind of erratic 
person who won’t in the least remember where she put 
her letter, and not having a clew, why should she sus- 
pect me of taking it?” 

“But Mrs. Freeman will write again.” 

“When she does there will be time enough to con- 
sider the right steps to take. She won’t write for a 
week or a fortnight, and a great deal can happen in that 
time. If the worst comes to the worst, it will be quite 
possible for me to obtain possession of her next letter.” 

“O Janet, I can’t listen to you; your suggestions 
are too dreadful.” 

“All right, my dear.” Janet slipped the letter into 
her pocket. “I know Lady Kathleen’s room,” she con- 
tinued, “and I shall manage to put this letter back on 
her dressing table when I go in. Who’s that coming to 
meet us? Oh, I declare, it is Squire O’Hara! How 
well your father rides, Bridget ! what a handsome man 
he is?” 

Bridget felt as if she should choke; the squire’s loud, 
hearty voice was heard in the distance. 

“Hullo, colleens; there you are!” he shouted. “I 
thought I’d bring the General round in this direction ; 
I had a curiosity to see how you were managing Miss 
Nelly, my dear.” He bowed as he spoke to Janet. 
“I see you keep your seat very nicely. And you, 
Biddy — eh, my jewel — why, you look tired. Has Wild 
Hawk been too much for you?” 

“Not a bit, father; I am as right as possible.” 

Bridget turned swiftly to Janet as she uttered these 
words. 

“I will give you your answer to-morrow,” she said in 
a low tone; “give me until to-morrow to decide,” 


. CHAPTER XXIII. 


UNDER A SPELL. 

Lady Kathleen did not make much fuss over the 
loss of her letter. 

It’s a queer thing,” she said that evening to the 
squire, as they all sat round the supper table, “ but I 
can’t lay my hand on the letter with the Eastcliff 
post-mark. I made sure that I slipped it into the 
pocket of the striped lilac silk dress I wore this morn- 
ing; but I didn’t, and I can’t imagine where I dropped 
it.” 

“ Well, my dear, we had better send someone to 
look for it,” said the squire. “ That is the letter with 
all the praise of Biddy in it, isn’t it?” 

“ Squire, you’re nothing but a doting old father,” 
replied Lady Kathleen ; ‘‘you think no one looks at 
that girl of yours without making a fuss over her. 
She’s a good bit of a thing — I am the last person to 
deny that; but from the little I saw of Mulberry 
Court she was no more than any other girl there — 
indeed, I think our little Janet had wormed herself 
more into the good graces of the school than my 
jewel of a Biddy. It’s my opinion that the letter 
contained no more and no less than just the account 
of the term’s expenses; and a request for a check in 
payment.” 

“ Oh, then, if that’s all, it can keep,” said Squire 


276 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


O’Hara. “ Mr. O’Hagan, I’ll trouble you to pass me 
the whisky bottle, sir. What’s that you are saying, 
Kathleen?” 

“ I may lay my hand on it in some out-of-the-way 
corner,” said Lady Kathleen ; “if not, I’ll write in a 
day or two to Mrs. Freeman, and tell 'her that it just 
got lost. Letters are no end of bother, in my opinion ; 
busy people have really no time to read them. Now, 
my colleen, what ails you ? Why, you’re quite white 
in the cheeks, and you’re not eating your usual hearty 
supper ! Don’t you fancy that sweetbread, Bridget ? ” 

“Yes, Aunt Kathleen, I am enjoying it very much,” 
said Bridget. “ I am quite well, too,” she added 
under her breath. 

The next morning Janet came into Bridget’s room. 

“I won’t stay a minute,” she saici ; “but I just 
thought I’d save you the trouble of a decision, so I 
tore up the letter last night, and burnt the bits in my 
candle before I went to sleep. You can’t get it back 
now, even if you wish to be honorable — which I know 
you don’t — so there is a weight off your mind. I told 
you how Lady Kathleen would take it. What a 
blessing it is that she is that scatter-brained sort of 
woman ! ” 

“ You oughtn’t to speak against her,” began Bridget 
in a feeble tone. 

“Oh, oughtn’t I, my love? Well, I won’t another 
time. Now we are all going for a pleasure party on 
the lake; won’t you join us?” 

“ I don’t think so,” said Biddy ; “you two girls and 
Patrick and Gerald can do very well without me. I 
want to see my father about Pat Donovan’s wedding, 
and.—” 


ORNAMENTS. 


“ By the way,” said Janet, “ is it true that we are all 
going out to high tea at some outlandish place ten 
miles away ? ” 

“ It is true that we are going to Court Macsherry,” 
said Bridget ; “ but I don’t think you will call it an 
outlandish place when you see it.” 

“ I can’t say,” retorted Janet; “and, what is more, 
I do not care. Your wild Ireland does not come up 
to my idea at all. I don’t care twopence about 
natural beauties. But I have a little bit of news for 
you, my pet. Who do you think we’ll see at Court 
Macsherry ? ” 

“ The Mahonys and their guests,” replied Bridget. 
“ I don’t know of anyone else.” 

“ Well — you’ll be rather startled — Evelyn Percival 
is there ! I had a letter this morning from Susy Price, 
and she told me so. Now, of course, I don’t care in 
th6 very least about Evelyn. I dislike her quite as 
much as you dislike her ; but I want to look very 
smart and fresh when I go to Court ^acsherry, and I 
want my poor little Sophy also to look as trim and 
bright as a daisy ; so, as you are going to stay at home 
this morning, Bid(^y, you might look out for some 
little ornaments to lend us both.” 

“ Ornaments to lend you ! ” retorted Bridget, open- 
ing her eyes. “ What do you mean ? Even if I 
wished to lend you my clothes they would not fit 
either of you.” 

“Your dresses wouldn’t fit us, of course ; but there 
are lots of other things — sashes, for instance, and 
necklets, and hats, and we wouldn’t mind a pretty 
parasol each, and we should feel most grateful for some 
of your embroidered handkerchiefs. I have got that 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


' 278 

sweet, pretty dress Lady Kathleen gave me for the 
bazaar, but poor little Sophy has really nothing fit to 
' appear in ; and you must admit that she’s a pretty 
little creature, and would look sweet if she were well 
dressed. I dare say you have got some white embroi- 
dered dresses you used to wear before you grew so tall 
and gawky, and if there were a tuck put into one of 
them, little Sophy would look very well in it. I should 
like her to have a pale blue sash to wear with it, and 
some large blue Venetian beads to put around her neck. 
Oh, a young girl needn’t have much dress, if it’s good. 
You’ll see about it, Bridget, won’t you, and have it 
ready in our room when we come back from our boat- 
ing expedition ? ” 

Janet ran out of the room as she spoke, slamming 
the door rather noisily behind her, 

Bridget, whose face was white with passion, felt 
quite too stunned even to move for a minute or two. 
Then she clenched her hands, walked to the window, 
and looked out. 

“ What have I done? ” she murmured. “ How can 
I allow myself to get into that horrid girl’s power? 
Oh, surely it would be much, much better to tell my 
father everything.” 

She leaned out of the open window, and looked down 
on the terrace. Her father was lounging on one of 
the rustic benches. He was smoking a pipe, and Bruin 
was lying at his feet. Looking at him from her win- 
dow, Bridget fancied that his old figure looked tired, 
more bent than usual, more aged than she had ever 
before noticed it. 

“I can’t, I won’t give him pain!” murmured the 
girl fiercely. “ I’d rather be under the power of 


A LIVING LIE. 


279 


twenty people like Janet than break his heart. But, 
O Biddy, Biddy O’Hara, what a wicked, senseless 
girl you have been ! ” 

“ Is that you, acushla ? ” called the squire up to her. 
“ Come right downstairs this minute, and let me hear 
all your fine plans for Norah’s and Pat’s wedding. 
What a colleen you are for planning and contriving! 
But come away down at once, and let me hear what’s 
at the back of your head.” 

“ Yes, father, in a minute ! ” 

Bridget rushed over to her glass. She looked anx- 
iously at her fair, bright face; it reflected back little or 
nothing of the loathing with which she regarded her- 
self. 

“ Oh, what a living lie you are ! ” she said, clenching 
her fist at it. “Oh, if father but knew what a base 
daughter he has got ! But he mustn’t know. He must 
never, never know ! ” 

She ran down and joined her father on the terrace. 

He put his arm round her, made room for her to 
seat herself by his side, and the two began eagerly to 
talk and to make arrangements for the coming wed- 
ding. 

“ But you’re out of spirits, my darling,” said Dennis 
O’Hara suddenly. “Oh, you needn’t try to hide it 
from me, Biddy. Your heart and soul aren’t in your 
words; Lean tell that in the wink of an eye. What’s 
up with you, mavourneen ? ” 

“I’ll tell you one thing, daddy ; I hate — I loathe 
school! ” 

“ Well, now,” said the squire, “ I have no fancy for 
schools myself ; it was your aunt’s wish. But your 
aunt, Biddy ” — here a twinkle came into his eye — 


28 o 


bX'shful fifteeaK 


“your aunt rules us, not with a rod of iron — ^.oli, by 
no means — but just with the little, soft, coaxing, and 
yet determined ways which no one can withstand. 
She worked on my feelings for nearly two years, Biddy 
O’Hara. She said you were a fine girl, and a good 
one, but that you knew nothing, and that if you were 
ever to be of any use in the world you must go to 
school.” 

“ Well, father,” said Bridget, “ did you really think 
in your own heart when you and I were alone at 
Castle Mahun that I knew nothing? What about the 
music we made in the old hall in the winter evenings? 
and what about that time when I saved Minerva’s 
life, and what about my dancing? I think, somehow 
or other, I have a little bit of education, father, and 
I doubt very much if I have really learned anything 
at school.” 

“ But you will, my pet, you will. These are early 
days, and you will learn at school. You will learn 
that sort of things that will make you ^ fine lady by 
and b}^” 

“Father,” said Bridget, “I don’t want to be a 
fine lady.” 

She put her arms suddenly round his neck, and 
looked into his eyes. “ Fine ladies are not good, 
father — they are not good. A girl can be wild and 
ignorant, and yet good, very good ; but a fine lady — 
oh, I hate the thought of her! ” 

“How excited you are, Biddy mavourneen, and how 
strangely you are talking ! Whoever thought of your 
not being the best sort of fine lady, and what fine 
lady, except your poor Aunt Kathie, have you ever 
seen, child ? ” 


MISCHIEF IN' YOUR EYES. 


281 


“ I have never seen any ; but I feel down in my heart 
what they are like ; and I will never resemble them, 
even if I spend fifty years in school. Now let us 
talk of Minerva and her pups. What are you go- 
ing to do with the pups ? ” 

The conversation turned into channels of a purely 
domestic nature, and Biddy, as she talked, forgot the 
cares which harassed and filled her soul. 

The young people soon returned from their ex- 
pedition on Lake Crena. Patrick and Gerald both 
seemed very much excited, Janet looked resolved and 
defiant, Sophy alarmed. 

“What’s the matter with you, Patrick?” said the 
squire. “ I see mischief in that eye of yours. What 
are you after ? ” 

“Oh,, nothing, uncle, nothing,” replied the lad. 
“ It is only that Miss Janet May has been rubbing me 
up. She doesn’t believe any of the stories I tell her 
about Lake Crena.” 

“Of cours^I don’t,” said Janet. “Who would be- 
lieve a schoolboy’s wild chattering nonsense?” 

Patrick’s black eyes flashed. 

“Come, come,” said the squire soothingly, and 
looking with half appeal af Janet ; “ this fine lad is 
close on seventeen. He is scarcely to be termed a 
schoolboy.” 

“ Oh, well, it does not matter what he is called,” 
continued Janet. “ If I thought he were only joking, 
I shouldn’t mind ; but when he tells me in sober 
earnest that a witch does live in the island in the 
center of the lake ; that she comes out on winter 
nights and curses the people who sail on the lake ; 
and, in short, that she’s a sort of malevolent old dame 


282 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


who belongs to the Dark Ages, I simply refuse to be- 
lieve him.” 

The squire looked rather startled while Janet was 
speaking. 

“ You shouldn’t talk of these things,” he said to 
Patrick. “ It’s all stuff and nonsense. Lake Crena 
is Lake Crena, the sweetest, sunniest spot in the 
world all through the summer months ; in the whiter 
she is the Witch’s Cauldron, and we leave her alone, 
that’s all. Now, young folks, come in to lunch.” 

Janet did not say anything further, but when in 
the course of the afternoon the whole pafty were 
driving in a great big wagonette to Court Mac- 
sherry, Patrick and she found themselves side by side. 

Look here,” he said to her then, “ are you willing 
to stick to your word ? ” 

“To what word ? ” she asked. 

“ Why, you said that you didn’t believe in the 
Witch?” 

“ No more I do. How could I be so silly ? ” 

“Hush! Don’t talk so loud; Uncle Dennis will 
hear us. Well, now. I’ll put faith in your bravery if 
you’ll stick to what you said. You said you wouldn’t 
mind spending from nine till twelve any night alone 
on the Witch’s Island. Will you do it?” 

“ As far as the Witch is concerned, I certainly 
will.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ as far as the Witch is 
concerned ’ ? There is certainly no one else likely to 
trouble you. There is a little broken-down arbor on 
the island where you can sit, and Gerald and I will 
row you over, and come for you again after mid- 
night.” 


ALL RIGHT. 


283 

“ But,” said Janet, “ if I promise to do this, you 
and Gerald won’t play me any trick, will you? I 
know what schoolboys are capable of. I used to stay 
at a house once where there were lots of boys. I 
was a little tot at the time, but they did lead me a 
life.” 

“ I should rather think they did,” said Patrick, wink- 
ing one of his black eyes solemnly at his brother, who 
was regarding the two from the opposite side of the 
wagonette with suppressed merriment. 

“ Well,” said Janet, “ I know quite well what boys 
are lik^ and I’m not going to give myself up to their 
tender mercies. Of course I don’t believe in that silly, 
stupid story about the Witch, but I do think that you 
and that fine Gerald of yours over there would be quite 
capable of playing me a trick, and dressing up as the 
Witcli,or something of that sort. If you both promise 
on your honor — and Irishmen seem to think a great 
lot of their honor — if you’ll both promise that you’ll 
do nothing mean of that sort, why I’ll go to the Witch’s 
Island any night you like, and stay there from nine 
till twelve o’clock.” 

“ That’s all right,” said Patrick. “ Gerry and I will 
give you our solemn promise that we’ll take you there 
and go away again, and come back at midnight to 
fetch you, and that we won’t do anything to frighten 
you ourselves, nor, as far as we can tell, allow anyone 
else to play a trick on you. There, now, are you 
satisfied ? ” 

I suppose I am.” 

“ What night will you go ?” 

“To-morrow night, if you wish.” 

“ That will do finely. The moon will be at her full 


2^4 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


from nine till twelve to-morrow night, and if the Witch 
comes out of her lair you will have a grand oppor- 
tunity to get a good view of her. Well, then, that’s 
all right ; only you mustn’t tell anybody what you’re 
going to do, for, hark ye. Miss May, my Uncle Dennis 
over there believes in that Witch as he believes in his 
own life. You wouldn’t catch him spending three 
hours alone on that island ; no, not for anybody under 
the sun.” 

Bridget had felt very angry when Janet had coolly 
proposed that she and her sister should be decked out 
in her finery; but, angry as she was, the spell which 
was over her was sufficiently potent to make her con]- 
ply with the audacious request which had been made 
to her. Accordingly, Janet and Sophy looked wonder- 
fully smart when they took off their light dust cloaks 
in the enormous square oak hall at Court Macsherry. 
There is really very little difference between one soft 
coral pink sash and another, between one row of sky- 
blue Venetian beads and another row ; and although 
Aunt Kathie, with one flashing glance of her bright 
eyes, discovered that the sashes with which the May 
girls were ornamented, and the beads which encircled 
their pretty throats, belonged to Bridget, no one else 
guessed this for a moment. The Mays looked extra 
smart and extra pretty, but Biddy had taken less pains 
than usual with her own dress. It was rich and expen- 
sive in texture, as almost all her clothes were, but it 
was pui on untidily, and was too heavy and hot-look- 
ing for this lovely summer evening. Her cheeks were 
flushed, too, and her eyes too bright. She looked like 
a girl who might be ill presently, and when Evelyn 
Percival, running down to meet her friends, asked 


THE S WEE 'TEST PLACE. 285 

Biddy if she had a headache, she had to own to the 
fact that this was the case. 

Evelyn was not a pretty girl, but her sweet, kind 
face looked full of pleasantness to Bridget to-night. 
Her eyes had such an open, truthful way of looking at 
one, her lips were so kindly in their curves, her voice so 
pleasant in its tone, that Squire O’Hara, as he said 
afterward, fell in love with her on the spot. There 
were several handsome young Irish girls living at 
Court Macsherry, and Evelyn looked only like a very 
pale little flower among them ; nevertheless, the squire 
singled her out for special and marked approval. 

“ So you are one of my colleen’s schoolfellows ! ” he 
said. “ Well, well, everyone to their taste, but I 
should have thought Lady Kathleen would have asked 
you to come and stay with us at Castle Mahun.” 

“ I shall be very glad to come over with my cousins 
to see you some day,” replied Evelyn. I am not 
Irish, but I love Ireland, and I think Court Macsherry 
the sweetest place in the world.” 

“Oh, it isn’t bad,” said Dennis O’Hara. “ I am not 
going to deny that it is a fine bit of land, and notwith- 
standing those big bogs to the left there, well culti- 
vated. It might be improved by a bit of water, for 
instance, but it isn’t for me to disparage my neigh- 
bor’s property.” 

“ My Cousin Norry has been telling me about your 
Lake Crena,” said Evelyn. “ I should like to see it ! ” 

“ So you shall, my dear; you’ll admire it fine. It is 
as good as the sea to us ; there isn’t its like in all the 
country round. When the sun shines on its bosom it 
is a sight to be remembered, and as to the moonlight 
effects, why they’re just ravishing. Come and take a 


286 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


walk with me on this terrace, my dear; I want to ask 
you about my girl Biddy. She don’t seem to take to 
that English school of yours, and I must own that I’m 
scarcely surprised. That colleen of mine is a wild 
sort of bird-like thing, and if you have a good many 
primity ways at school, I don’t wonder she can’t abide 
them. Do you see much of her. Miss Percival ? You 
look about the same age, and I suppose you are in the 
same class.” 

“ I am older than Bridget,” said Evelyn Percival. 
“ Bridget is a great deal taller and bigger than any 
other girl of fifteen in the school.” 

“ Well, do you see much of her? ” 

“ Not as much as 1 should like. The fact is ” 

“What is it, my dear? you might confide in the 
colleen’s father ; if there is anything I ought to 
know ” 

“ I can’t exactly say there is, except — oh, perhaps I 
ought not to say it.” 

“ But, indeed, you ought. I can see by your eyes 
that you are a truthful, good sort of girl, and though I 
have only known you ten minutes, I’d like my wild 
colleen to be friends with you. What is it now ? 
What’s in your mind ? ” 

“ I don’t at all like to tell you ; but the fact is, I 
was most anxious to be fond of Biddy.” 

“ Yes, my dear, yes ; Em scarcely surprised at that.” 

“ I felt attracted to her the moment I saw her; she 
was so different from the other girls. Of course, she 
didn’t know the meaning of rules, but there was some- 
thing about her wonderfully fresh and pleasant, and I 
and my friend Dorothy Collingwood would have done 
anything in our power to make school life easy to her,” 


/ J/A V BE WRONG. 


287 


“You don’t mean to tell me that it wasn’t easy? 
Why, she’s about as clever a bit of a thing as you 
could find.” 

“ I don’t think anyone denies that ; she has not been 
taught in the ordinary way, so, of course, she could 
not get into a high class; but that is not the point. 
I’d have been friends with her, the best of friends, if 
she hadn’t repulsed me.” 

“Biddy repulse you ! She never repulsed mortal in 
her whole life, the poor darling ! ” 

“ I don’t think it was her fault ; indeed, I am sure it 
was not, but — and this is the thing that I don’t at 
all like to say — she was, I am convinced, influenced 
against me by another.” 

“ By another? Who? If you have a nasty sort of 
girl at the school, she ought to be got rid of. Whom 
do you mean ? ” 

“ I can’t bear to tell you, and I may be wrong, but 
we do think, -Dorothy and I, that Biddy would be 
much, much happier at Mulberry Court but for Janet 
May.” 

“Phew!” the Squire drew a long breath; “that 
pretty little visitor of mine? Lady Kathleen invited 
her and seemed much taken with her. She told me 
that Janet was Biddy’s ‘dearest friend; but, now that 
you mention it, I do not see the colleen much with 
her. You don’t mean to tell me? — oh, but I mustn’t 
hear a word against one of my visitors.” 

“ I don’t want to say anything, only that Dolly and 
I are sorry about Bridget, and we are — I must say it 
frankly — not at all fond of Janet.” 

“ Maybe you’re prejudiced ; she’s a pretty creature, 
and seems to mean well.” 


288 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


The great bell in the yard at Court Macsherry 
sounded a tremendous peal for supper. 

“That’s right,” said the squire heartily; “that’s a 
grateful sort of sound when a man is starving, as I 
happen to be. Let me give you my arm, Miss Perci- 
val. I’ll never breathe what you have said, of course; 
but I should be glad if you could do a kindness to my 
girl next term.” 

“ I will do my very utmost to help her,” said Evelyn 
heartily. 

The guests had now assembled in the great dining 
hall, where a groaning board awaited them. 

The squire looked down the long table. Biddy was 
nowhere to be seen. 

“Where can the girl be?” he said under his breath. 
Somebody else remarked her absence, and Patrick 
immediately started up to go and look for her. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

NORAH TO THE RESCUE. 


Bridget had wandered away by herself. She knew 
her cousins, the Mahonys of Court Macsherry, too well 
to stand on the least ceremony with them. The load 
which crushed against her heart seemed to grow heavier 
each moment. Her only desire was to be alone. 

She knew a spot where no one was likely to disturb 
her, and, catching up the long train of her rich dress, 
she ran swiftly until she found a solitary tree which 
stood a little apart from its fellows, and hung over the 
borders of the great, big bog which formed a large por- 
tion of the Court Macsherry estate. 

Bridget climbed up into the hollow of the oak tree, 
and leaning back against its big trunk, looked out 
over the dismal, ugly bog. Her brows were drawn 
down, her beautiful lips drooped petulantly, she pushed 
back her rich hair from her brow. Her quaint many- 
colored dress, the background formed by the oak tree, 
the effect of the wild country which lay before her, 
gave to her own features a queer weirdness; and a 
passing traveler, had any been near, might have sup- 
posed her to be one of the fabled hamadryads of the 
oak. 

No travelers, however, were likely to see Bridget 
where she had now ensconced herself. She sat quite 
still for nearly an hour, then dropping her head on her 
hands she gave way to a low, bitter moan. 

289 


290 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


She had scarcely done so before there was a rustling 
sound heard in the grass. It was pushed aside in the 
place where it grew longest and thickest, and a woman 
raised her head and looked up at her. 

“ Eh, mavourneen ? ” she said, in a voice of deep love 
and pity. 

The woman was Norah Maloney. She had seen 
Biddy as she ran across the grass to her seat in the oak 
tree, and had crept softly after her, happy and content 
to lie silent and unobserved in the vicinity of her 
adored young mistress. 

Norah was a protegee of the Mahonys as well as the* 
O’Haras, and thought nothing of walking from one 
estate to the other. She crouched motionless in the 
long grass, scarcely daring to breathe or discover her 
vicinity in any way, until Biddy’s heartbroken moan 
reached her ears. 

Uncontrollable pity then overcame all other feelings. 
Her child, her darling was unhappy. Come what 
might, Norah must comfort her. 

“ Eh, mavourneen?” she said then. “Core of me 
heart, you’re in throuble ! What can Norah do for 
yez ? ” 

“ I am unhappy, Norah ! ” said Bridget. She sprang 
out of the oak tree as she spoke. “ O Norah, Norah ! ” 
she exclaimed, clasping the old servant’s horny hand ; 
“don’t tell anyone — don’t, don’t for the life of you, 
Norah ; but I hate Janet May.” 

“That young Englisher colleen ?” said Norah, her 
eyes flashing angry fire. “ Eh, but she’s a cowld- 
hearted foreigner. Eh, but it isn’t me nor Pat nayther 
that’s took with her ways.” 

“ It’s dreadful of me to say anything,” continued 


SHE RAN QUICKLY. 


291 


Bridget. “ She’s my visitor, and I have told you that 
1 hated her. Forget it, Norah — forget it.” 

“ Secret as the grave I’ll keep it,” replied Norah, 
with emphasis. 

Bridget ran back to the house, and the old servant, 
with a certain stealthy movement, which was more or 
less habitual to her, glided away through the long 
grass. She walked two or three hundred )’ards in this 
fashion, then she came to a stile which led directly to 
the dusty and forsaken highroad. Here Norah stooped 
down and carefully removed her thick hobnailed 
shoes and coarse, gray woolen stockings. She thrust 
the stockings into her capacious pocket, and tying 
the shoes together with a coarse piece of string, slung 
them over her arm. After this, she kilted her petti- 
coats an inch or two higher, and the next moment 
began to run svviftly and silently over the dusty road. 
Her movements were full of ease, and even grace. 
H er bare feet quickly covered the ground. 

She ran with a certain swing, which did not abate 
in speed as she flew over the road. Mile after mile 
she went in this fashion, never once losing her breath, 
or appearing in the least inconvenienced by her rapid 
motion. At last she turned up a narrow mountain 
path. Here the ground was very rough, and she was 
obliged to go slowly, but even here her bare feet car- 
ried her with unerring surety. She neither slipped 
nor stumbled, and never once faltered in her swift 
upward course. 

After going up the mountain for nearly half a mile, 
she came suddenly upon the little shanty or mud hut 
where Pat, tlie boy whom Norah loved, lay flat on his 
back on a rude bed of straw. 


592 


bashful fifteen. 


Norah lifted tlie latch of the door, and came iri. 

‘‘Here’s poor Norah back, Pat,” she said. “And 
hovv are you, alanna? Is it dhry ye feels and lone- 
some ? Well, then, here’s Norah to give wather for 
your thirst, and news to fill your heart.” 

“ Why, then, Norah, you look spent and tired,” 
said Pat. “ And what’s up now, girl, and why did you 
come up the clifif as if you had the hounds at your 
heels ?” 

“ Bekaze I had some news,” said Norah, “ and my 
heart burned to tell it to yez. I have gone over a 
good bit. of ground to-day, Pat, and I put two and two 
together. I said the young Englisher wasn’t afther 
no good, and well I knows it now. It’s our Miss 
Bridget has a sore heart ; and why should she have it 
for the loikes of her ? ” 

Pat Donovan was a man of very few words, but he 
raised his big head now from its pillow, and fixed his 
glittering black eyes on the old and anxious face of 
Norah with keen interest. 

“ Spake out what’s in yer mind, girl,” he said. 
“ Thim what interferes with our Miss Biddy ’ull have 
cause to wish themselves out of Quid Oireland before 
many days is over.” 

“Thrue for yez, Pat,” said Norah; “and glad I am 
that I has come to a right-hearted boy like yourself, 
for I knew as you’d see the rights of it, and maybe 
rid Miss Bridget of an enemy.” 

“Spake,” said Pat, “and don’t sit there running 
round and round the subject ; spake, Norah, and tell 
me what you’re after ! ” 

“ Well, then, it’s this,” said Norah. “Be a token 
which I can’t reveal, for I promised faithfully I wouldn’t, 


LET'S TALK. 


293 


our Miss Biddy is fit to break her heart bekaze of that 
young Englisher. Now, I know that to-morrow night 
Miss Janet May is going to the Witch’s Island, jest for 
the sake of brag, and to prove that she don’t hould by 
no witches nor fairies, nor nothing of that sort ; and 
the young gentlemen ’ll take her over to the island at 
nine o’clock, and they’ll go to fetch her again at twelve, 

and what I say, Pat, is this ” 

“ Whist !” said Pat, raising his big hand, and a look 
of mystery coming over his face; “whist, Norah, 
mavourneen, you come over here and sit nigh me, and 
let’s talk the matter over.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


HER MAJESTY THE WITCH. 

Janet enjoyed the feeling that Bridget was now in 
her power. She had something of the cat nature, and 
slie liked to torture this very fine and rare specimen of 
mouse which she had unexpectedly caught. She was 
so clever, however, that no one suspected her of any- 
thing but the heartiest friendship for Bridget. Even 
the squire, whose eyes were more or less opened by 
Evelyn’s talk, and who watched Janet now with in- 
tense scrutiny, could see nothing to object to in her. 

“ It is a pity that other nice colleen should have 
those jealous thoughts,” he said to himself ; “ that 
little Miss May is as nice and good-hearted a bit of a 
thing as I have come across for many a day. I can 
see by the very way she walks, and eats, and looks, 
that she’s just devoted to Biddy; and, for the matter 
of that, who can wonder, for everybody likes my 
colleen.” 

The weather was very beautiful just now, and the 
young people spent almost all their time in the open 
air. Bridget, who had avoided the society of the 
other jT^oLing folks yesterday, seemed quite to have 
recovered her good spirits to-day, and merry laughter 
made the beautiful old place seem more gay and 
cheerful tlian ever. Patrick, however, and Gerald, for 
some reason or other, as the day advanced, did not 


2Q4 


IV// V TO-N/GHT? 


295 


look quite at ease. Supper was at eight at Castle 
Mahun, and it was arranged that immediately after 
that meal the boys should row Janet over to the 
island and leave her there. The secret was to be 
revealed to no one, but for some reason it did not 
give them the complete satisfaction it had done 
yesterday. 

They were kind-hearted lads, and although they had 
plenty of mischief in their composition, would not 
willingly hurt anyone. They were as superstitious as 
Irish lads could be, and as the fateful hour approached 
Patrick called his younger brother aside. 

‘‘ Have you anchored the boat quite snug under the 
big willow,” he asked, “where Uncle Dennis won’t 
get a glimpse of it? He’d be sure to be mad if he 
thought we were going on Lake Crena to-night.” 

“And why to-night,” asked Gerald, “more than any 
other night? The lake is as safe a place as your bed, 
except from September to March. Why shouldn’t we 
have a row on Lake Crena to-night, Pat? ” 

“For the best of good reasons,” said Pat. “The 
full moon is just beginning to wane to-night ; that is 
the only night in the month when the Witch gets rest- 
less. I am sorry, for my part, that I asked Miss May 
to go to the island. I made sure, of course, that she’d 
funk it when it came to the point; I never guessed 
that she’d go on with it. Whatever she is, she’s 
plucky; I’ll say that for her.” 

“ I don’t see that she’s so plucky,” retorted Gerry; 
“ she doesn’t believe in the Witch, you know — she 
laughs when we speak about her.” 

“ But suppose — suppose she — she" sees her,” said 
Patrick, his big black eyes gro\ying full of gloom, and 


296 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


even fear. “ Gerry, I’d never forgive myself if I did 
such a dastardly thing as to give a poor girl like that 
a real fright.” 

Gerald looked reflective. 

“ I don’t think the Witch walks about until past 
eleven,” he said, “and why shouldn’t we go back for 
Janet at eleven? She’ll have spent two hours on the 
island then, and will be quite satisfied with herself.” 

“Yes, that’s all very fine, and then she’ll boast to 
the end of her days that we haven’t got a witch.” 

“Well, even that is better than to give her such a 
rousing fright that she’ll be deprived of her senses. 
There’s the supper gong, Pat ; we must go into the 
house. Uncle Dennis will suspect something if we 
are not tucking-in as hard as possible in a minute or 
two from now.” 

“ I can’t help it, I am too anxious to eat,” said Pat. 

“ I wish I hadn’t thought of the thing. Of course, I 
see we must go through with it now ; she’d brag all 
her days that we had only pretended about the Witch 
if we didn’t. But I vow I’ll — I’ll stay somewhere near 
and — and watch — I vow I will. Come along into the 
house, Gerry, and keep your own counsel, if you can ;/ 
you have such a way of getting your face full of your 
thoughts that people can almost read them.” 

“ If there is roley-poley pudding for supper,” said 
Gerry, “ I’ll get my thoughts packed full of that, and 
my face too. The roley-poley pudding expression is 
innocent enough, isn’t it?” 

Pat gave his brother a playful cuff on the ear, and 
they went into the house together. 

Janet was seated near Lady Kathleen. Her face 
*^as absolutely tranquil. So unconcerned and serene 


MormXG TO FEAR. 


297 

Was its expression that Gerry, as he passed her chair, 
could not forbear bending forward and whispering in 
her ear : 

“ I guess you’re funking it.” 

Janet’s blue-gray eyes looked calmly up at him. 

“ I have nothing to funk,” she replied, in the same 
low tone. 

The squire shouted to Gerald to take his seat, and 
the meal proceeded. 

Very soon after supper Gerald and Patrick dis- 
appeared. They ran down a shady walk, and soon 
reached the old willow tree under which the boat was 
moored. 

“ She’ll funk it for sure and certain,” said Gerry 
again. 

“No, that’s not her,” replied Patrick; “and, hark! 
do you hear her footstep ? Here she comes 1 For my 
part, I wish we were well out of this.” 

“ There’s no help for it now,” retorted Gerald ; 
“ she’d laugh at us all our born days if we didn’t go on 
with it. Well, Miss May, and so your ladyship is 
pleased to accept our escort to the Witch’s Island.” 

Gerry made a low bow as he spoke, and pulling off 
his somewhat tattered straw hat, touched the ground 
with it ere he replaced it on the back of his curly 
head. 

Janet was seen leisurely approaching. She carried 
a little white shawl over her arm, and a yellow-backed 
novel in her other hand. 

“ I say,” exclaimed Patrick, coming up to her, “you 
don’t mean to tell me you are going to read ? ” 

“And why not?” replied Janet; “it would be 
rather dull work sitting for three hours in that 


298 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


island doing nothing. See what I have also brought 
— a box of matches and a piece of candle. You say 
ther a little old summerhouse there — in that 
summerhouse I’ll sit and read ‘ Pretty Miss Neville.’ 
I assure you, boys, the time will pass very quickly 
and agreeably.” 

“You have some spunk in you,” said Patrick, in a 
tone of genuine admiration. His black eyes flashed 
fire with the admiration he felt for the slim pale girl 
who was brave enough to despise the superstitious 
terrors which overmastered himself. 

There was no horse in the country round about that 
Patrick O’Mahony would not have mounted ; the most 
terrible danger could not have daunted his spirit. His 
physical courage had never known the point where 
fear could conquer it ; but he owned to himself that 
he would have shrunk in abject terror from the very 
simple feat of sitting for three hours alone in the 
Witch’s Island. 

“ If you’d like to get out of it,” he said suddenly, 
“ Gerry and I will never tell — will we, Gerry ? ” 

“ No, truth and honor ! ” replied Gerald. 

“You see you have proved your pluck,” continued 
Patrick. “ It would be awfully dull for you staying 
for three hours alone on the island.” 

“ Not at all, I assure you,” replied Janet; “ I have 
my book and my candle. Help me into the boat, 
please, gentlemen, or I shall begin to think you are a 
fine pair of little humbugs.” 

“ Oh, if that is your way of putting it,” said Patrick, 
his quick temper easily roused, “ we had better start 
at once. Come along, Gerry ; help me to unmoor the 
boat. Now, Miss Janet, jump in, if you please.” 


HER WORST ENEMY. 


299 

Five minutes later, Janet May found lierself alone 
on the tiny patch of ground wliich went by the name 
of the Witch’s Island. • 

It consisted of a thickly wooded piece of land ris- 
ing up in the very center of Lake Crena, and about 
three-quarters of an acre in size. There was a little 
binding-place where some of the thick trees had been 
cleared away. Here, high and dry, and well out of 
reach of the water, stood a rude summerhouse. 
Janet waited alone on the little strip of quay until the 
boat, turning a tiny headland, was lost to view ; then 
she went into the summerhouse, and lighting her 
candle sat down on a broken-down bench, placed the 
candle securely on a small stone slab by her side, and 
opening her novel began to read. The courage she 
had shown was not in the least assumed. This enter- 
prise simply amused her ; she expected to find the 
time dull — dullness was the worst enemy that could 
possibly visit her. 

“ Pretty Miss Neville,” however, was quite to her 
taste, and turning its leaves quickly, she soon lost her- 
self in a world far away from the Witch’s Island, and 
much more in harmony with her own ambitious and 
eager spirit. She, too, would win her triumphs, and 
have her lovers in the not too distant future. Oh. Ivnv 
splendidly she had managed everything ! IT w ni < it 
was to have a girl like Bridget O’Hara comph leb in 
her power! Janet’s thoughts after all proved mere 
delightful than her book. She closed it, and coming 
out of the little stuffy summerhouse stood on the tiny 
quay and looked around her. The moon was gottitig 
up slowly, and was shedding silver |''aths of sl im - ’ 
light over beautiful Lake Crena. The scene v 

o 


300 BASHFUL FIFTEEH. 

lovely, so exquisitely soothing and peaceful, that a 
girl with a different order of mind might have felt her 
thoughts rise as she looked at that moonlight path, 
and some aspirations for the good, the true, the noble, 
might have filled her breast. Janet was not without 
imagination as she looked at that long silver path 
which stretched away from her very feet onward to 
the distant horizon, but it only brought to her visions 
of Paris and Lady Kathleen, and what she would do 
to aggrandize herself in the delightful future which 
was so near. 

Her meditations were suddenly disturbed by a slight 
noise to her right. 

She looked around her carelessly. ‘‘ Can the Witch 
be coming?” she said, with a slight laugh. 

At that moment the great clock in the stable at 
Castle Mahun struck ten ; the deep notes swelled and 
died away on the evening breeze. 

“ That noise can’t be caused by the Witch,” thought 
Janet, “ for the boys say that she seldom deigns to put 
in an appearance before eleven o’clock; oh, dear! oh, 
dear! have I two more hours to spend on this detest- 
able spot? When will they have passed away ? What 
shall I do to kill time? I had better go back and go 
on with my book.” She was about to re-enter the 
little summerhouse when the distinct splash of an oar 
on the water reached her ears. 

She could not help giving a start, and then exclaimed 
with a sigh of relief : 

“Is that you, Pat? But you need not come back 
)'et. I assure you I am thoroughly comfortable. I 
am waiting in state for her majesty Mrs. Witch to 
visit me.” 


IT ir> ABSURD. 


30 i 

There was no reply whatever to Janet’s gay sally. 
Slie entered the summerhouse and, rearranging her 
candle, opened her book, and went on reading. 

Again there was a sound on the island ; this time it 
was the cracking of a bough. 

“A bird or a rabbit, or some small inoffensive 
creature of that sort,” murmured the girl ; but, for the 
first time, her heart beat a little more quickly. 

“ It is absurd,” she said to herself. “ One would 
absolutely suppose, to look at me now, that I gave 
credence to the boys’ ridiculous tales. Well, this is a 
very dull escapade at best, and catch me going in for 
anything of the kind again. I must make the best of 
it now, however.” 

She turned another page of her book, found that 
the plot was thickening and the situation becoming 
more exciting, and forgot herself in Miss Neville’s 
sorrows. 

She was soon startled back to consciousness of 
present things, however. She not only heard another 
bough crack, and a low, thick shrub rustle, but she 
also distinguished a sure and unmistakable “Whist! 
whist ! ” in a man’s deep tones. It was plain, there- 
fore, that she was not alone on the island. Even now 
she was not afraid of the witch ; but she had a very 
substantial fear of human foes, and she already guessed 
that more than one of Bridget’s lawless friends would 
be quite capable of doing her an ill turn. 

With a sudden feeling of satisfaction she remem- 
bered that she had a dog-whistle fastened to her watch- 
chain. If she blew a shrill blast with the whistle it 
would frighten any concealed enemies away, and bring 
the boys quickly to her rescue. 


302 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


She stepped out of the hut, therefore, and put the 
whistle to her lips. 

“No, none of that!’' said a voice. “You’ll come 
with me, miss, and the fewer questions you axes the 
better.” 

A rough man of powerful build, with a piece of 
crape tied across his eyes, rushed suddenly forward in 
the moonlight. He drew a thick cloth over the girl’s 
head and shoulders, a pair of strong arms encircled 
her waist; she found herself lifted from the ground, 
and knew that she was being carried rapidly away. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A TERRIBLE NIGHT. 

There was great fun and excitement at Castle 
Mahun that night, and Janet’s absence was not in the 
least noticed. 

It was a moonlight night, and the squire’s will and 
pleasure was that every member of the household who 
cared to come should assemble on the wide terrace 
outside the Castle to hear Biddy play some of the 
Irish melodies on her harp. 

Biddy’s performances were well worth listening to. 
From far and near the heterogeneous crowd who 
were wont to throng to the Castle assembled to hear 
her. 

“ The Harp that once through Tara’s Halls ” floated 
on the night breeze. The wild, sweet melody sounded 
quite eerie, and caused two excited boys to shiver as 
they listened. They were thinking of Janet on the 
Witch’s Island, and longing for the moment when they 
might fly down to the boat, row across to the island, 
and release her from captivity. 

“A jig! Let us have a jig !” shouted the squire. 
“ Come, Biddy, colleen, you and Pat give us all an 
Irish jig.” 

Bridget was nothing loath to obey. Someone 
scraped the bow of an old fiddle, and merry, quick 
music succeeded the more somber notes. Bridget’s 


3^4 


BASI-IFUL FIFTEEi^. 


and Pat’s dance was followed by many others, and thd 
fun rose fast and furious. 

By and by eleven struck from the clock in the court- 
yard. The boys crept down unobserved to the shores 
of the lake, and the rest of the party went to bed. 

Bridget had forgotten all her sorrows in a sound 
sleep. In her healthy young slumbers she had not 
even room for dreams. A smile lingered round her 
pretty lips, her dark curly lashes lay heavily on her 
rose-tinted cheeks. 

Bang ! bang ! ” There came some pummels at her 
door, then the handle was turned, and muffled feet 
stepped as noiselessly as they could across the old and 
creaking boards. 

“You wake her, Gerry,” said Pat. 

“ I can’t — I don’t like to ! ” said Gerry, with a sob in 
his throat. 

“Well, then, I will. What a little coward you are ! 
Why can’t you control yourself ? What is the good 
of being in such a beastly funk? It will be all right 
when Biddy knows. I say, Biddy! Biddy, wake! 
How soundly she sleeps! Let’s strike a match, and 
flash it into her eyes, Gerry.” 

“ No, no ; Uncle Dennis will hear us,” said Gerry, his 
teeth chattering more than ever. 

“ Let’s pull her, then,” said Pat. “ Let’s give a tug 
at her hair. Oh, I say, Biddy, you might wake and 
help a fellow.” 

These last almost wailing words penetrated the 
sleeper’s dreams. She opened her eyes with a start, 
and said aloud : 

“ I won’t get into your power, Janet,” and then ex- 
claimed in astonishment, when she saw her two 


WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? 


305 


cousins standing by her bedside, the moonlight 
streaming all over them : 

“What is the matter?” she said. “You up, Pat, 
and you, Gerry ! What does this mean ? ” 

The moment her words reached his ears Gerry 
flung himself on his knees, buried his head in the bed- 
clothes, and began to sob violently. 

“ Oh, do shut up, you little beggar ! ” said Pat. 
“ What is the good of waking the house ? Biddy, we 
are in an awful mess, Gerry and I, and we can’t talk 
to you here. Won’t you get up and come down to 
the hall, and let us tell you what is the matter ? 
Bruin is the only living creature there, and he’ll 
not let out a sound if we tell him that you are 
coming.” 

“ Yes, I’ll be with you in a minute,” said Bridget. 

She rose quickly, dressed almost in a twinkling, and 
a few minutes later was standing with her cousins in 
the great entrance hall of the Castle. 

They quickly told the first part of their tale — all 
about Janet, and the challenge which had passed be- 
tween them. Biddy was just as fearless as her cousins, 
but she, too, was superstitious, and she felt a catch in 
her breath, and a sudden sensation of respect for Janet, 
when the boys told her how absolutely indifferent to 
fe<ir she was, and how willing to spend three hours 
alone on the haunted island. 

“ We went back for her sharp at eleven. Poor 
little spunky thing! she hadn’t a scrap of fear when 
we left her. There she stood, smiling and nodding to 
us, with that stupid old novel in her hand, and just 
making us believe that she was going to have quite a 
good time ; but when we went back she was nowhere 


3 o 6 ' BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 

to be seen. As sure as you are there, Biddy, there 
wasn’t a sight of her anywhere.” 

“ The Witch came, of course, and took her away,” 
said Gerry. He shook all over as he spoke. 

“ Don’t be a goose,” said Biddy. “ Let me think ; 
it couldn t have been the Witch.” 

“ Why, of course it was, Biddy. Who else could it 
have been ? She’s gone ; she’s not on the island ; and 
you know the stories of the Witch — how she does 
appear on certain nights when the moon is in the full.” 

“Yes, I know that,” said Bridget. “She does ap- 
pear, and she frightens folks, and perhaps goes the 
length of turning them crazy ; but she doesn’t spirit 
them away. How can she? Oh, do let me think. 
Don’t talk for a minute, boys ; I have got to puzzle 
this thing out.” 

The boys did not say a word. Gerry stooped cry- 
ing, and Pat fixed his big eyes gloomily on his cousin. 
Biddy was a girl, an Irish girl, and such are quick to 
jump to conclusions. The boys watched her face now 
with devouring interest. Bruin rose slowly to his 
feet, pattered solemnly across the polished floor, and 
laid his big head on her lap. 

Biddy’s shapely hand touched his forehead, but 
her thoughts were far away. After a time she said 
quickly : 

“There is but one thing to be done : we must find 
Norah Malone without a minute’s loss of time.” 

“ Norah ! ” exclaimed both the boys. 

“You must have taken leave of your senses, 
Bridget !” exclaimed Pat. “What has Norah to do 
with Janet May and the island?” 

“ T can’t tell you,” said Bridget. “I have just a 


/ COULDN'T BEAR TO LOOK AT HER. 307 

fear in my heart, and Norah may set it at rest. We 
must find her. We must go to her at once, this very 
night.” 

“ Where is she ?” asked Pat. “I haven’t seen her 
for days past.” 

“ She may be up on the mountain with Donovan. 
You know they are to be married in a couplQ of days, 
and Donovan is to be moved down on a litter to the 
Castle. Or she may be sleeping at the Hogans’ at 
the lodge. We will go to the Hogans’ first, and if 
they can tell nothing about her we must go up to the 
mountains. There is nothing whatever else to be 
done.” 

“ It seems such a waste of time,” grumbled Pat. 
“It is Janet we want to find.” 

“And I tell you it is through Norah we’ll find her,” 
answered Bridget, stamping her foot at him. “ Come 
along, boys, both of you, and Bruin, you come, too. 
We have a night’s work before us, and we haven’t a 
minute to lose.” 

“ It is the night when the moon is at the full,” said 
Garry, “ and — and the Witch may come to us, and — 
I couldn’t bear to look at her.” 

“ Well, go to bed, you little coward ! ” said Pat, 
flashing round at him, and aiming a cuff at his head. 

Gerry darted behind Bridget for protection. 

“ Come, boys, don’t quarrel,” she said. “ Gerry, 
you know you are not a real coward. Come along 
this minute and help us.” 

She was unbarring the bolts which secured the 
great front door as she spoke. The next moment the 
three young folks were standing on the terrace. 

“ The dogs will raise an alarm,” said Bridget ; 


3o8 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


‘‘that’s the worst of them. If so, my father will get 
up, and everything will be known. Stay, though. I’ll 
send Bruin round to speak to them. Come here, 
darling, I want you.” 

The great dog came up to her. 

She knelt on the gravel, with the moon shining all 
over her,.and looked into his eyes. 

“ Go round to the dogs. Bruin,” she said, “ and tell 
them to be quiet, and then come back to me. Go 
quickly.” 

The deerhound licked his mistress’s hand, and then 
trotted in sober, solemn fashion round by the shrub- 
bery and disappeared. 

The girl and the boys waited anxiously. Not a 
dog bayedi not a sound of any sort was audible. 
Bruin trod on the velvety turf as he returned. He 
looked up at Bridget, who bent down and kissed him 
between the eyes. 

“ Good King! ” she said, and then she and the boys 
started off as fast as they could to the Hogans’ 
cottage, where Norah might possibly be sleeping. 

No sign of her there; no tidings of her, either. 
Hogan got up and put out a white face of amazement 
from one of the tiny windows of the cottage when 
Bridget made her demand. If he knew anything of 
Norah’s wherebouts, neither face nor manner betrayed 
him. 

“It’s no good, boys,” said Bridget, “she is not 
there; or if she is, Hogan has got the word not to 
tell. VVe might stand and talk to him forever before 
he’d let even a wink of an eye betray him. There 
is nothing whatever for it but for us to go to the 
pottage on the mountains.” 


I/O IF DA HE WE? 


309 

Gerry was quite silent now. He took care to keep 
Bridget between himself and Pat, and no one particu- 
larly noticed when he started at his own shadow, and 
when he looked guiltily behind. 

Even to ride on horseback to Donovan’s cabin, in 
the midst of the lonely mountains, took a long time ; 
but to walk on foot in the uncertain moonlight was 
truly a weary undertaking. 

It was between three and four in the morning when 
the children, exhausted and almost spent, stumbled up 
against the little cabin, to find the door locked and the 
house deserted. 

Gerry burst out crying, and even Bridget owned that 
she had come to the end of her resources. 

“ Don’t talk to me, either of you,” she said ; “ I am 
more persuaded than ever that Norah and Donovan 
are at tlie bottom of this. There is nothing for it now 
but to go home.” 

“How dare we?” said Pat. “Uncle Dennis will 
almost kill Gerry and me if he knows of this.” 

“We must go home, boys; we must face the thing. 
We had better step out now as fast as we can, or the 
servants will be up.” 

“I can’t tell Uncle Dennis of this,” said Pat; “I 
simply can’t.” 

“ Don’t say whether you can or cannot now,” said 
Bridget; “let us go back as quickly as possible.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


“SPEAK out!’' 

Squire O’Hara was the first of the family to put 
in an appearance the next morning at the breakfast 
table. He looked round him somewhat impatiently. 
He did not count Miss Macnamara, nor old Captain 
Shand, nor one or two more of the visitors, as any- 
body. When they came in he simply nodded to them, 
but his impatient eyes looked eagerly at the vacant 
places which his own family ought to occupy. 

What was the matter with the world ? 

Where was his sister-in-law Kathleen? She was up 
too early as a rule — fidgeting, fussing, talking, and 
clattering. Where were those imps, P.at and Gerry ? 
Where were the two nice little English girls ? — and, 
above all, where was his colleen, his darling, the apple 
of his eye ? 

“ Shall I pour out your tea for you, squire ? ” asked 
Miss Macnamara in a timid voice. 

“No, I thank, you,” he replied; “I’ll wait for my 
family. Help yourself ; help yourself, I beg. Captaiii 
Shand, pray tackle the beef ; Mr. Jones, try that 
kippered salmon. Nobody need wait breakfast who 
doesn’t wish to ; but I’m not hungry. I’ll just step 
out on the terrace for a minute or two until some of 
my family choose to put in an appearance.” 

The squire opened the window as he spoke, and. 


' \ 


310 


BLUSTER AND NOISE. 


stepping over the sill, was just about to call to the 
dogs to accompany him in his walk when a little, 
shabby, gray-haired woman started up almost at his 
feet, and raised two blazing black eyes to his face. 

“ Is that you, Norah ? ” said the squire. “ And may 
I ask what you are doing here crouching down among 
the rose-bushes ? ” 

“Nothing, yer honor; sure as I live I’m doing 
notliing ! ” said Norah. “ I was only waiting to catch 
a sight of Miss Biddy, bless her.” 

“You surely did not lie in ambush in this absurd 
fashion to see Miss Bridget. She does not want 
people skulking after her like that. There, my good 
woman, don’t look at me as if I were going to eat you. 
Go round to the kitchen and have some breakfast, and 
you shall see Miss Biddy afterward.” 

The squire heard fresh sounds of arrival in the 
breakfast room at this moment. In consequence, his 
voice grew more cordial. 

He passed in again through the open window, 
and Norah quickly disappeared round by the 
shrubbery. 

“Is that you, Biddy?” he said. “How are you, 
my love ? Oh ! and Kathleen, you have put in an 
appearance at last ; and here the boys, and Miss 
Soph}'. Come, that’s right, that’s right. Now let 
us sit down and enjoy ourselves. I have been out 
since six o’clock, and I’m quite disposed to do justice 
to my tea and fresh eggs. Here, Biddy, you shall 
pour me out a cup with your own fair hands, 
alanna.” 

The squire drew up to the table, making a 
considerable amount of bluster and noise. Bruin 


312 


BASHFUL FIFTEEiV. 


croiiclied in his usual place by Bridget’s side; Sophy 
sat near Lady Kathleen ; the boys began hungrily to 
attack a huge bowl of porridge each, and the meal 
proceeded. 

“You are all very silent,” said the squire. “Have 
none of you anything to say for yourselves? Not a 
laugh do I hear — not a whisper. Half an hour late for 
breakfast, and everyone coming in as mum as if we 
were all a house of the dead ! Come, Biddy, come, 
haven’t you a joke to crack with anyone ?” 

“ Oh, squire,” said Lady Kathleen, from the other 
end of the long board, “ we just want you to drink 
off your tea first. Oh, oh, oh ! Sophy, poor child, 
poor child, restrain yourself. There, she can’t, the 
creature, she can’t. Put your arms round my neck, 
pet, and cry here then ; poor little dear, poor little 
dear ! ” 

“ What in the name of fortune does this mean?” 
exclaimed Dennis O’Hara. “Biddy, can you explain 
it ? Why, your face is like a sheet, child. What can 
be wrong? ” 

“ I will tell you, Dennis,” said Lady Kathleen. 
“Poor little Janet is lost. If you hadn’t been so 
taken up with all the singing and the dancing last 
night you’d have missed her from our family circle, 
for she wasn’t there then, and she isn’t here now ; and 
what’s more, she hasn’t been in her bed the whole of 
the blessed night, and there’s Sophy fit to break her 
heart, and no wonder, poor thing, no wonder, for if 
there was a nice devoted little sister it was Janet. 
I am fearing that the poor child has fallen from a 
precipice, or gone too far into one of the bogs. 
I always told you, squire, that you didn’t half drain 


I'M JUST NOBODY ! 313 

those bogs. Now, what is it? Oh, mercy me, what 
awful thing are you going to say?” 

“ I’m going to request you to hold your tongue,” said 
the squire. “ We none of us can hear ourselves speak - 
with you, Kathleen. And a fine, queer tale you have 
to tell ! Miss Janet May hasn’t been in the house all 
night ! Is that true. Miss Sophy ? ” 

“ She wasn’t in her room last night,” said Sophy, a 
fresh sob breaking her voice. 

“ But this must be looked into at once,” continued 
the squire. “One of my visitors has been absent 
from my roof all night, and I am only told of it now — 
now — and it past eight o’clock in the morning! This 
is a scandalous shame ! Why, there isn’t a man or boy 
in the place who shouldn’t have been searching round 
for the bit of a colleen four hours past. But, of course, 
Fm always kept in the dark. Although I am Squire 
O’Hara of Castle Mahun, I’m just nobody, I suppose? 
Now, what is it, Bridget — what are you going to say? 

I won’t take interference from anyone when I am 
roused like this.” 

The squire was in one of his rare, but terrible pas- 
sions : his lips trembled, his eyes blazed, bis great hand 
shook. 

“ I have got something to tell you,” began Bridget. 

“ Oh, you have, have you ? You can throw light on 
this scandal then ? Speak out, speak out this minute.” 

“Will you come with me into your study? I’d 
rather tell you alone.” 

“I’ll do nothing of the kind. You speak out here. 
It’s a nice state of things when the master of the house 
is kept in the dark ! That girl should have been 
searched for last night when she didn’t come in. And 


314 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN, 


of course she would have been searched for if I had 
been told of it ; but the rest of you must hugger-mug- 
ger together and keep me in the dark. I call this state 
of things disgraceful. Now what is it you have got to 
say, Bridget ? Are you a coward too, afraid to tell 
your own father? A nice state of things the world is 
coming to ! Speak ! are you afraid of me ? ” 

“ I am a coward, and I am afraid of you,’’ said Bridget. 

Her words were so absolutely unexpected that every 
single individual seated round the breakfast table 
started back with an astonished exclamation. 

Bridget’s own face was white as death. She stepped 
a little away from the table ; Bruin got up and stood 
by her side. She was unconscious of the fact that her 
hand rested on his great head. 

“Speak up,” thundered the squire, “I’ll have no 
more shuffling. You look as if you were ashamed of 
something. I see it in your eye. You are my only 
child — the last of the race, and you are ashamed ! 
Good God, that I should live to see this day. But 
come, no more shuffling — out with the truth ! ” 

“ I know something about Janet, and so also do Pat 
and Gerry,” continued Bridget. “ I’d rather tell you 
by yourself, father; I wish you’d let me.” 

“ No, that I won’t ; if you have done anything wrong 
you have got to confess it. A pretty pass we have 
come to when Bridget O’Hara has to confess her sins ! 
But, never mind, though you were twenty times my 
child, you’ll have to stand here and tell the truth be- 
fore everyone. Now speak up, speak up this minute — ■ 
Kathleen ! if you don’t stop blubbering you’ll have to 
leave the room.” 

Dennis O’Hara’s face was terrible. 


GO ON, BIDDY. 


315 


He and Bridget were the only ones standing ; all 
the rest remained glued to their chairs, without speak- 
ing or moving. 

“ Now go on,” he said, “ we are all waiting to hear 
this fine confession ; did you spirit Janet May away?” 

‘‘ No, I didn’t. You make me cease to fear you, 
father, when you speak in that tone,” said Bridget. 
“ I have behaved badly, I — I thought it would break 
my heart to tell you ; but when you look at me like 
that ” 

“Like what? Go on, Biddy, or you’ll drive me 
mad.” 

“ Well, I know what has happened to Janet. She 
went over to the Witch’s Island last night. She said 
there was no witch. Nothing would make her believe 
in a witch, and she would go ; it was her own desire.” 

“And you took her there, I suppose? ” 

“ No, I didn’t ; I had nothing to do with it.” 

“ It was I who did that part, uncle,” said Pat, sud- 
denly springing to his feet. “ I won’t let Biddy be 
the only one scolded ; I was in an awful funk when I 
found what had happened, but I can’t stand here and 
hear a girl spoken to like this ; and Biddy isn’t a bit 
nor a morsel to blame. It’s just Biddy all out to try 
and shield other people ; but it was my fault, mine 
and Gerry’s. What is it, uncle ? what is it you are 
saying to me ? ” 

“ Come over here this minute,” said the squire. 
“Shake hands with me ; you are a fine lad, you are a 
very fine lad. Oh, thank Heaven ! I thought the 
colleen had done something wrong. It isn’t a bit of 
matter about anybody else. Speak out, Pat, speak 
out; and, oh ! alanna, alanna, forgive me, forgive me. 


3i6 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


I thought bad of you, my jewel, my sweet! Come 
into my arms, my colleen asthore. What matter 
who is black, when you are white as a lily ? ’’ 

Dennis O’Hara’s burst of passion was overas quickly 
as it had arisen ; he went up to Bridget and folded his 
great arms round her slight young figure. 

“ But I am not white,” she said, bursting into 
sudden uncontrollable weeping ; “ oh, I am not white, 
and you’ll never love me any more, and my heart will 
break. I can’t tell you now, before everybody. I 
just can’t, I can’t. Pat knows all about Janet. Pat 
can tell that story, and you are not going to be too 
angry with him ; but I must go away, for I can’t speak 
of the other thing. There, father, don’t kiss me, I 
cannot stand it.” 

She wrenched herself out of his arms and flew from 
the room. 

It was aglorious summer’s day; the sun was blazing 
down from the sky with a fierce heat. Bridget felt 
half blinded with misery and confusion of mind. She 
put up her hand to her head and glanced up at the 
sky. 

“ I must tell my father everything when I see him 
next,” she said to herself. “ Oh, what shall I do, what 
shall I do ? ” 

Footsteps sounded behind her, She felt impatient 
of anyone seeing her in her grief and distraction, and, 
turning to hide herself in the shrubbery, found that 
she was face to face with Norah. 

“I seen you, me darling,” said Norah ; “ I seen you 
when you ran out of the breakfast room all distraught 
like.” 

‘‘You saw me? then you were listening, Norah,” 


GO A ND BRING HER BA CK ! 317 

said Bridget, her tears drying rapidly in her sudden 
anger. 

“And why not, alanna? and why shouldn’t I listen 
when it was for the good of my own nursling? The 
squire says, ‘Go and have some breakfast, Norah’; 
but what’s breakfast to me when the light of my eyes, 
the child I helped to rear, is suffering. I listened. 
Miss Biddy, and when you run out of the room I 
followed you. You come with me, alanna. You 
trust poor Norah. Norah Malony and Pat Donovan 
’ud spill their heart’s blood for you, missie; you trust 
us both ! ’* 

“ I thought as much,” said Bridget. “ Come back 
here into the shade of the shrubbery, Norah ; I 
guessed last night that you were at the bottom of 
this. Don’t you know that you have behaved dis- 
gracefully? Do you think my father will help you to 
marry Pat after such conduct as this? No, don’t go 
down on your knees ; I am not inclined to intercede 
for you at present. I am not inclined to take your 
part. You must go this instant to the place where 
you have hidden Janet May. There is not a moment 
to lose ; go and bring her back at once ! ” 

Norah began to cry feebly. 

“You are hard on me,” she sobbed, “ and I done it 
for you — Pat and me, we done it for you. We meant 
no harm either. The young Englisher girl have come 
to no grief — leastways, nothing but a bit of a fright, 
and she’ll do what we wants if you don’t spoil every- 
thing, Miss Bridget.” 

“ I don’t understand you, Norah; I don’t feel even 
inclined to listen to you. You must go this minute 
and release poor Janet.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

WHAT THE O’HARAS SAID TO ONE ANOTHER. 

The race of human beings who can neither read 
nor write are fast vanishing from the face of the 
civilized earth. They used, however, to abound in 
great numbers in old Ireland, and, strange as it may 
seem, these so-called uneducated people have proved 
themselves to be some of the shrewdest in the 
world. 

For, never reading the books of men, they are 
always perusing the greater book of nature. Unac- 
quainted with the art of writing, they trust absolutely 
to their memories. The observation, therefore, of the 
Irish peasant can scarcely be credited by those who 
have never come across him. 

Norah had made up her mind that Janet should not 
be released from the hiding-place to which she and 
Pat had spirited her until she made full confession of 
her own part in making Bridget unhappy. It is true 
Norah had never heard the tale, but she seemed to 
know as much about it as if she had been in every- 
body’s confidence, and had even joined the Fancy 
Fair Committee, and sat in Mrs. Freeman’s school- 
room when Bridget, under Janet’s directions, cribbed 
her lessons. 

If Bridget herself, however, wished Janet to be set 
free, there was no help for it. 


MEMORY CAME BACK. 319 

“You wait here, Miss Biddy,” she said; “you 
needn’t go for Miss Janet May. I’ll bring her to you 
in an hour at the farthest.” 

“ Very well, Norah,” said Bridget, “ I’ll wait for you 
here.” 

She sat down as she spoke, under the shelter of a 
large birch tree, and, leaning her head against its silver 
stem, fell into a heavy sleep. 

She dreamt in her sleep, and these dreams were so 
disquieting that she could not help crying out and 
moaning heavily. She opened her eyes at last to see 
her old father standing by her. 

For a moment she could not remember where she 
was, nor what had happened. The smile which always 
filled her eyes when she looked at her dearly loved 
father came into them now ; a gay word banished the 
sorrowful lines from round her lips, and, with a little 
laugh, she rose to her feet. 

“ How ridiculous of me to have gone to sleep in the 
wood,” she exclaimed. 

Then memory came back. She flushed first, and 
then turned deadly pale. 

“You are in trouble, alanna,” said Squire O’Hara. 
“ I know that by the look you wore in your sleep ; I 
never saw my colleen wear a face so full of sorrow 
before. There’s something on your mind, acushla, 
and you are afraid to tell your father. Maybe I 
frightened you a bit in the parlor just now; if so, my 
heart’s core, you must forgive me, I was taken aback 
and put out, and we O’Haras are celebrated for our 
hasty tempers. I am not angry now, however: my 
anger has passed like a morning cloud. You tell me 
all that is vexing you, Biddy. Put your arms round 


320 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


me, and whisper your trouble in my ears, my own 
colleen.” 

“ And why should a beautiful young lady like that 
have any throuble,” exclaimed another voice. 

The squire and Bridget both started and turned 
round. Janet May and Norah were coming up the 
little path, and even now stood by their sides. 

“ Here’s the young Englisher lady,” said Norah. 
“ She’s none the worse for having spent one night 
with the Irish folk, and there’s no throuble, now that 
she has come back ; is there. Miss Biddy? ” 

For one instant Bridge.t was silent. 

Janet came up to her and spoke in a gentle, cheer- 
ful tone. “ I am so glad to be back with you, dear,” 
she said. “ I dare say you and the squire were uneasy 
about me. Well, I had an adventure, and am none 
the worse. I’ll tell you all about it presently. Norah 
has something, also, to say for herself ; but she, too, 
will speak presently. Now I have one request to make 
of the squire.” 

“ What is that, my dear? ” asked Dennis O’Hara. 

“ It is that no one shall be punished on my account,” 
said Janet, in her sweet, low tones. “ There was just 
a little bit of a practical joke played on me. You 
Irish are celebrated for practical jokes, are you not ? 
I came to no harm, and if I don’t wish anyone to . be 
punished, I suppose my wishes are worth considering, 
as I was the only one who suffered.” 

“You are by no means the only one who suffered, 
Miss May,” said the squire. “ Look at Biddy, there. 
Why is her face so pale, and why are her eyes so 
heavy? And as to practical jokes, I never heard that 
it was the way of the Irish gentry to practice them 


STA V HERE. 


321 


upon their visitors. My dear young lady, I appreci- 
ate your kind and generous spirit. It does my old 
heart good to see you here safe and unharmed, but 
you must allow me to deal with this matter in my own 
way. I am not thinking of it at present, however. 
I want to have a word with my daughter Biddy. 
Will you go into the house, Miss May ? Biddy and I 
will follow you presently.” 

“No, Janet, stay here,” said Bridget suddenly. 

She threw up her head with something of the free 
action of a young race horse, tossed her curly hair 
back from her broad brow, and looked first at Janet 
and then at the squire. 

There was something in the expression of her eyes 
which caused Janet, as she afterward expressed it, 
“ to shake in her shoes.” 

“ Norah,” continued Bridget, “you must stay here 
too. Now, father, I will tell you something. I will 
tell you why your Biddy can never, never again be the 
old Bridget you used to know and to love.” 

“Oh, don’t,” interrupted Janet. “See how hys- 
terical you are, Bridget. Don’t you think, squire ” 

“ Hush ! ” thundered the squire. “ Let the colleen 
speak.” 

“Father,” continued Bridget, “I am a very un- 
happy girl. I have behaved badly. I have been 
wicked ; I have been dishonorable and — and de- 
ceitful.” 

“No, no, I don’t believe that,” said the -squire. 
“Whatever you are, you are not deceitful.” Once 
again his face turned white, and an angry light leaped 
out of his eyes. 

“It is true,” continued Bridget, “and — and she 


325 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


tempted me — she, Janet May. I never met anyone 
like her before. Slie tempted me ; I don’t know with 
what motive. It isn’t right to tell tales of a visitor; 
but I — I cant bear things any longer, and I have got 
so confused in my mind that I don’t know what is 
right and what is wrong. I don’t wish to excuse 
myself, but I do not think I’d have done the dreadful 
things but for her. I wouldn’t have done them, be- 
cause they never would have occurred to me. Per- 
haps that is because I am not clever enough. I don’t 
want to excuse myself, but she tempted me to do 
wrong, and I did wrong, frightfully wrong, and I have 
been, oh, so miserable ! And Norah here — poor 
Norah — she guessed at my trouble, and she thought 
she’d punish Janet. That’s why Janet was away last 
night. It was very wrong of Norah, too, but she did 
it out of love to me. Oh, father, how miserable I am ! 
Why did you send me to that English school } I can 
never, never, never again be your old Biddy ; never 
again, father, never as long as I live.” 

Here poor Bridget burst into such convulsive weep- 
ing that her words became inaudible. 

Suddenly she felt a pair of arms round her neck, 
and, looking up, her lips touched her father’s cheek. 

“ Let me go on,” she said ; “ let me get it over.” 

Not until you are better, colleen. There is not 
the least hurry. Come down and sit with me in the 
bower near the Holy Well. We shall have it all to 
ourselves.” 

‘‘But the others,” said Bridget — “Janet and 
Norah ? ” 

“ I sent them away. Why should they hear what 
one O’Hara has to say to the other? ” 


CHAPTER XXrX. 


THE CHILD OF HIS HEART. 

Janet ran quickly toward the house. On her way 
she met one of the servants, a man of the name of 
Doolan ; she stopped to say a few words to him' 
eagerly, then, running on, found herself in the great 
hall, where Lady Kathleen, Pat, Gerald, and Sophy 
were all assembled. 

Lady Kathleen uttered a scream when she saw 
her. 

“ Oh, how glad I am ” she began. 

Janet interrupted her hastily. 

“Dear Lady Kathleen,” she said, “I will speak to 
you presently. I will tell you all my adventures 
presently ; but please, please let me go up to my room 
now with Sophy; I want to say a word to Sophy. 
Please let me pass.” 

There was an expression about Janet’s face which 
caused Lady Kathleen to fall back, which arrested a 
torrent of words on the lips of each of the boys, and 
which made poor, frightened Sophy follow her sister 
out of the room without a word. 

“Come upstairs with me, and be as quick as ever 
you can,” said Janet. 

She took her sister’s hand as she spoke, rushed up 
the stairs with her, and entered the large room which 
the girls shared together. 


323 


3^4 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


“ Now, Sophy,” said Janet, “ how much money have 
you got? Don’t attempt to prevaricate. I know you 
received a letter yesterday from Aunt Jane, and she — 
she sent you a five-pound note; I know it — don’t 
attempt to deny it.” 

“I don’t want to deny it,” said Sophy. “You — 
you frighten me, Janet ; we have all been so miserable 
about you. I could not eat any breakfast ; I was 
crying as if my heart would break, and now you come 
back looking like I don’t know what, and you speak 
in such a dreadful way.” 

“Never mind how I speak,” said Janet ; “ pack your 
things ; be quick about it, for we must be out of this 
place in ten minutes.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“I’ll tell you presently. Pack, pack, pack ! Fling 
your things into your trunk, no matter how — anything 
to get away. If you are not packed, with your hat 
and gloves on, in ten minutes, you shall come away 
without your finery, that is all.” 

“But how are we to get away?” said Sophy. 
“We can’t walk to the station; it is twenty miles 
off.” 

“ I know that, but I have arranged everything. 
Mike Doolan will have the jaunting car at the top of 
the back avenue in fifteen minutes from now. I only 
want to pack and lock our boxes ; they must follow 
us by and by. Now, don’t waste another moment 
talking.” . 

Janet’s words were so strong, her gestures so im- 
perious, that Sophy found herself forced to do exactly 
what she was told. The ribbons, laces, trinkets, which 
she and Janet had amassed out of poor Bridget’s stores 


AN IMPORTANT DISCO VERY. 


325 


during their stay at Castle Mahun were tossed anyhow 
into their trunks ; the trunks were locked and directed, 
and the two girls had left the house without saying 
a word to anyone long before Squire O’Hara and 
Bridget returned to it. 

Janet was worthless through and through ; Sophy 
was very little better. The curtain drops over them 
here as far as this story is concerned. 

What more is there to tell? 

How can I speak of those events which immedi- 
ately followed the departure of Janet May and her 
sister ? — the wonder and consternation of Lady Kath- 
leen Peterham ; the astonishment and curiosity of 
the retainers ; the secret triumph of Norah Maloney 
and Pat Donovan ; the intense amazement of the 
boys ! 

Amazement had its day, curiosity its hour, and then 
the memory of the English girls faded, and the waters 
of oblivion, to a great extent, closed over them. Lady 
Kathleen sent their trunks to the address which Janet 
had put upon them. They were addressed to a Miss 
Jane Perkins, and Lady Kathleen concluded that she 
was the Aunt Jane of whom Janet stood in such 
wholesome dread. 

The squire made an important discovery on that 
unhappy day. It was this: O’Hara of Castle Mahun 
could brook no dishonor in the person of his nephew, 
or sister, or cousin ; but the child of his heart could be 
forgiven even dishonor. 

“ 1 will myself write to Mrs. Freeman,” he said, after 
he and Bridget had concluded their long conference. 
“O Biddy, child ! why did you not tell me before; 
could anything, anything turn my heart from thy 


BASHFUL FIFTEEN. 


326 

heart ? But listen, acushla macree, your Aunt Kath- 
leen and Pat and Gerald must never know of 
this.” 

^ Of Bridget’s future history, of her many subse- 
quent adventures, both at school and at home — are 
they not written in the book of the future? 


✓ 


THE END. 


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